


Heart on the Trigger

by WritingToKeepMySanity



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Historical References, Mobster Jack AU, Some Swearing, Some ableist language, and part of the OOC thing, but i'm like 95 percent sure there will be a happy ending, but tiny warning, not a lot, not a whole lot, not enough to have a graphic warning, right now it's mostly, some OOC decisions, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingToKeepMySanity/pseuds/WritingToKeepMySanity
Summary: "If love's a fight / Then I shall die / With my heart on the trigger"***AU where the strike never happened, the Newsies never met Katherine, and Jack joins one of the most dangerous gangs in Manhattan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Undercover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727027) by [tuppenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't stronger than this.
> 
> He wasn't better.
> 
> And he wasn't really Jack Kelly anymore.

He tapped the butt of his gun against his thigh. He didn’t like being in Eastman’s territory. It was too close to home, to bad memories, to the boys…

Eastman came out of the bar then, his dumb derby hat perched precariously on his head, his jacket ripped down the side. He stopped just outside the door, lit a cigarette.

This was his chance. Raising the gun in his hand, he fired. One shot. Two shots. Eastman fell to his knees, and Jack Kelly faded into the shadows of the alleyway.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

He went to his apartment after. He probably should've reported back to Kelly, let him know that the job was finished, but Jack just… couldn’t right now.

Throwing his coat and hat over a chair, he took the gun from his waistband and, after giving it a distasteful look, tossed it on the table. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he scrubbed his hands across his face, ran his fingers through his hair before interlocking them behind his neck.

When had _this_ become his life?

There was... an incident a couple years back, and he'd caught the attention of the wrong people. He never expected to get in so deep. One or two jobs, tops, to ensure all was forgiven. But once you were in, the only way you left was with a bullet in your head.

So, as Francis Sullivan rose higher and higher in the ranks of the Five Points, Jack Kelly started fading further and further into a faint memory. 

He did the intimidation thing, harassing folks for the boys over at Tammany Hall, helped with the robberies, reaped benefits from others getting hurt. And he could almost live with himself. As long as his motivation for staying didn't change, and Kelly kept his word, Jack could handle the soakings and theft. It wasn't like there were really any upstanding citizens around these parts. They was all scum. 

And then Paul Kelly himself tasked Jack with a job most guys would kill for.

Kill Monk Eastman, the leader of the Eastman gang and Kelly’s worst enemy.

Jack had soaked people before—came with working the streets—and waved the gun around for show, but tonight was the first time he’d used it.

Flopping back on his back, he stared up at the ceiling. He’d spent the last two years being Francis Sullivan, cutting ties with anything and everything that connected him to Jack Kelly.

And tonight, the lines had blurred so much—he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The next day, early afternoon, Jack entered Paul Kelly’s office. The man himself sat behind his desk, as Biff and Johnny slouched in the leather chairs opposite of him.

As he approached, Kelly watched him. “Francis.”

“Paul.” Jack mimicked, hooking a thumb in his belt loop. 

“Is it done?”

Pulling his gun from waistband, Jack handed it to Paul, butt first. “Check it. Two bullets. Two shots. It’s done.”

Paul accepted the piece, smoothly checking the chamber before nodding and handing it back. “Good work, Francis.”

Jack nodded, taking back his gun. Biff let out a whoop.

“There he is! The man who killed Monk Eastman! Attaboy, Sully!”

Johnny echoed the sentiments, pounding Jack's back, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a battered brass cigar case. He offered one to Paul first, before holding the case out to Jack and Biff. 

He felt his stomach tighten at the sight of them. Coronas. Forcing down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him, he hesitantly took one. Jack had never really been a smoker, couldn't stand the taste. 

But... he wasn't really Jack anymore, was he? Jack Kellydidn't kill people, Jack Kelly didn't leave behind his friends, Jack Kelly didn'tsoak people just because someone told him to. Jack Kelly didn't smoke.

But Francis Sullivan did. So he accepted the lit match from Biff and took a drag from the cigar, allowing the tobacco smoke to fill his lungs as Johnny and Biff continued to congratulate him. Kelly, man of few words that he was, simply looked on.

The celebration was interrupted when Frankie burst into the office, yelling something in rapid-fire Italian.

A hush fell over the room as Paul answered back in Italian. The short exchange had them all on edge, and they watched with rapt attention.

Kelly waved Frankie aside and stood, taking in the room. The three of them started fidgeting under his scrutinizing gaze, which landed on Jack.

“Francis. You told me the Eastman matter was settled.”

“Yes sir. It is.” Jack didn’t like how Kelly was studying him.

Paul Kelly’s voice was dangerously calm. “Then why has Frankie just informed me that not only was Monk Eastman not killed, but he will survive his _two gunshot wounds_?”

Jack’s eyes widened. He shot Eastman, shot him _twice_ , and the bastard was still alive? “I don’t—I thought—” He couldn't explain the feeling in his gut. _Maybe I ain't totally gone, maybe Jack's still awake in here somewhere..._

“Did you perhaps,” Kelly’s eyes flashed dangerously, “think to make sure he was dead before you left?”

Straightening his spine, Jack squared his shoulders. There wasn’t any use lying now. “No. I didn’t.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Paul sat back down. “That is… disappointing, Francis." Turning back to Frankie, he spoke in Italian once more, waving a hand, clearly dismissing the other man.

When the door clicked shut behind Frankie, Kelly stood from his desk again, slowly approaching Jack. Tensing his shoulders and balling his fists, Jack tried to prepare himself for the hit he knew was coming.

Quicker than he could blink, Kelly landed a solid punch to his stomach, catching Jack off guard. The blow caused him to double over, which just gave Kelly an opportunity to knee him in the gut.

Wheezing, Jack fell to his knees. His head snapped to the side when Paul backhanded him. Vision blurring, Jack held his breath as Kelly leaned down to talk in his ear.

“You had one job, Sullivan. And you failed it. Maybe we’ll have to reconsider your employment here. Or maybe I can have James here revisit your old friend. What was his name, again?”

Jack bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t say anything. _You can't be Jack right now. You's gonna get the boys hurt_. 

Paul shook his head, looking disappointed. “James, John. Get him out of my sight.”

Biff pulled him to his feet, and he and Johnny dragged him out into the hallway. The last thing Jack saw was Paul Kelly sitting at his desk, staring at some unknown spot.

And then the door closed, and the hits started coming.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack stumbled into his apartment, landing heavily in a kitchen chair with a groan. Tipping his head back, he considered saying a prayer of thanks that he was even able to walk back to his place, but after the two years he'd had, he wasn't sure anyone was actually listening. Not anymore.

Instead, he took stock of his injuries, trying to determine which ones needed the most attention. 

Nothing seemed to be broken, which was better than he’d expected. A lump on his head from hitting the floor, left eye surely blackened, practically swollen shut, a couple of split knuckles from his own punches. His ribs ached something fierce. Lifting his shirt, Jack found a mottled canvas of dark purple bruises. It hurt to breath, his lungs burning with the effort.

But he was alive.

For some reason, that didn’t bring him the comfort he thought it would.

"You's an idiot," he muttered under his breath. "One job, ya had  _one job_ an' ya screwed it up an' ya got on Kelly's bad side an' now Racer's gonna pay—"

Gritting his teeth, Jack stood abruptly and limped to the cabinet where he kept bandages and a bottle of cheap vodka. He took a swig, wincing at the burn of alcohol and the discovery of a split lip. Moving to stand in front of the small mirror he had hung up on the wall, he grimaced.

The black eye took up nearly half his face, he had a cut over the other eye, and the split lip made his made his mouth look too big. Dried blood crusted in his eyebrow, under his nose, on his chin. He really needed to clean out those cuts, the ones on his hand, too, clean up the blood, but Jack just turned roughly from the mirror and dropped unceremoniously onto his bed. Clutching a pillow to his chest, he took a deep breath, shifting as his ribs protested, and stared up at the ceiling.

"You's Jack Kelly," he whispered. "You's Jack Kelly, not Sully, an' you's gonna make it. You's stronger'n this. You's better'n this."

His words were empty, hollow. He'd been repeating this mantra for two years now, hoping to bring him some source of comfort. 

But after so long, they'd lost all meaning. And he knew the truth.

He wasn't stronger than this.

He wasn't better.

And he wasn't really Jack Kelly anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your history lesson for today:
> 
> Five Points Gang was founded by Paolo Antonio Vaccerelli—or, as he was more commonly known, Paul Kelly—an Italian American immigrant. Kelly was considered "cultured", always impeccably dressed, and could speak Italian, French, and Spanish, as well as English.
> 
> His rival, Monk Eastman, however, was once described as having "a messy head of wild hair, wore a derby [bowler hat] two sizes too small for his head, sported numerous gold-capped teeth, and often paraded around shirtless or in tatters". He ran the aptly named Eastman Gang of Lower Manhattan, and both gangs fought for the "neutral" area of Lower East Manhattan.
> 
> Five Points helped the politicians of Tammany Hall, a political organization at the time, by stuffing ballot boxes, threatening voters, etc, and in turn, Tammany Hall got them out of some scrapes with the police.
> 
> ~~"How 'bout a crooked politician?" "Ya nitwit, that ain't news no more!"~~
> 
> James T. "Biff" Ellison and Johnny Torrio were two of Kelly's lieutenants, and Frankie is based off a real member, also named Frankie, who joined much later (Frankie Yale was only seven at the time this story is set, and he didn't join up til he was a teenager).
> 
> In 1901, Monk Eastman survived gunshot wounds from a Five Points member who tried to kill him.
> 
> ***
> 
> Lyrics in the summary from "Angel With a Shotgun" by the Cab.
> 
> ***
> 
> Hello, it's me again! Amidst final term papers and outlining Christmas fics arises... this.
> 
> You'll have to take some of the historical stuff with a grain of salt. I'm not a history major, nor a time-traveler. I've done my research on the Five Points and Eastman's gang, and some of their members, but I haven't found a whole lot beyond the bare bones.
> 
> So, I have part of the next chapter written, and after that... I have no idea where this is going *jazz hands* Ready for this train wreck, kiddies? (bear with me, I promise it gets better)
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which your author is very sorry for what she's about to make you read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some violence and ableist language in this chapter.

The next day, there was a pounding on his door. Groaning, Jack picked himself off his bed, calling out, “Who is it?”

A voice answered. “It’s Biff. Open up, Sully.”

Jack stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Letting go slowly, he backtracked to the kitchen table and picked up his gun. Holding it loosely in his hand, he opened the door.

Biff barely looked at him, already turning to stalk down the hallway. “Take a walk with me, Sully.”

Taken aback, Jack stuck the gun in his waistband and grabbed his coat and hat, making a face at the battered fedora. He missed his Newsie cap, but it was jammed in a box under his bed, along with everything else that was Jack Kelly’s.

They walked in silence for a while, Jack mostly afraid to say anything. Why was Biff even here? Biff only sought him out for jobs, but after he’d failed so spectacularly, surely Paul didn’t trust him enough to give him a new assignment.

Finally, Biff spoke. “Ever heard o’ Joseph Pulitzer?”

Jack wanted to laugh.  _Had he heard of Pulitzer_? He knew more about Pulitzer than he cared to. But  _they_  didn’t know that. “Sure. Newspaper guy, right?”

Biff scoffed. “‘ _Newspaper guy_ ’, he says. Joseph Pulitzer is one o’ the biggest newspaper  _guys_  in the city. Everybody reads his pape. Gots some o’ the best investigators on his payroll, and guess who ‘is next target is for investigatin’?”

“Who?”

“Paul.” They turned a corner. “Least, that’s tha rumor. And if he blows the cover on all this—”

“What about the folks at Tammany?” Jack asked.

“If ol’ Joe blows the cover on what we’s doin’, not even the folks at Tammany can save us.” Biff said as they crossed the street. “And if Kelly goes down, we all goes down. Got that, Sully?”

Jack nodded. “So what are we gonna do?”

“First off, nothin’ sensitive gets told ta tha new guys. Paul’ll be assignin’ as few guys as he can fer jobs. Second—” Biff stopped on the sidewalk, studied him. “Whaddaya know about Pulitzer’s kids?”

Shrugging, Jack rocked back on his heels. “Not much. He’s gotta lot of ‘em. One died a few years back. Why?”

“He’s gotta daughter, Katherine. Word is, she wants to follow in Daddy’s footsteps, report for the papes.”

“A  _girl_  reporter?” Jack hadn’t ever heard of no girl reporter.

“Yeah, I don’t gets it either.”

“So why do we cares about Katherine Pulitzer?”

Biff shrugged a shoulder. “Paul thinks she could be useful to us, be bought inta tellin’ us somethin’, or used to convince Joe ta change his mind, if that’s what it comes to.”

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Alrigh’, an’ you’s tellin’ me because…?”

“I’s tellin’ ya,” Biff drawled, sounding disappointed. “‘Cause Paul’s puttin’ you in charge. You’s gonna follow ‘er, chat ‘er up, see what she knows.”

Jack blinked, stunned. “Why me? Why would Kelly want me ta watch ‘er? Didn’t I just screw up, big time?”

Biff scoffed. “Don’t gotta tell me twice. Why do ya thinks we’s putting you on skirt duty? It ain’t ‘cause you did a bang-up job killin’ Eastman. But you’s about her age, pretty enough ta get ‘er ta talk.”

Jack stiffened. “Hey, Biff, I knows we’s in some shady business, but I ain’t—I can’t—won’t—not if she—”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Biff laughed, a humorless sound. “Don’t worry ‘bouts it, Sully. All ya gotta do is talk to ‘er, see what her father knows. Think ya can handle it?”

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Jack nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can handle that.”

“Good.” Biff nodded and they began walking again. “Now here’s what Kelly knows—”

“Jack?”

Instinctively, he raised his head at the sound of his name, before remembering who he was with and who he was supposed to be. Trying to pass his movement off as adjusting his hat, Jack caught the eye of…

 _Aw, man. Not them_.

“Davey, it’s Jack!” Les exclaimed, waving wildly. “Hey, Jack!” The kid—not looking so much like a kid anymore—ran up to him, his Newsie bag bouncing on his leg.

“Jack?” Crutchie asked, a smile stretching across his face. Davey followed, looking cautiously excited.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Biff reach for his gun in his waistband. He had to act quick. Stopping Les with his hands on the kid’s shoulders, Jack shoved him back, none too gently. “Hey, slow down, kid. Ya musta got me mixed up with someone else. Name’s Sully.”

Confused, Les looked over his shoulder to Crutchie and Davey, then back to him. “But… Jack. Don’cha remember me?”

Biff was getting antsy next to him. “I told ya, kid,” Jack spat out. “My name ain’t Jack. Now move aside, ‘fore this gets ugly.”

“Hey, Jack,” Crutchie said, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Quit messin’ around. It’s us.”

“Sully, you know these punks?” Biff growled next to him.

Jack tightened his jaw. “Nope. Ain’t never seen ‘em before, Biff.”

“Then let’s go,” Biff declared, shoving Les to the ground before sweeping past them, Jack following him, his head down.

“Hey!” Davey yelled, grabbing Biff’s sleeve. “Pick on someone your own size!”

Jack groaned inwardly. Davey had always been one of the smartest guys he knew, but he could be so _dumb_ sometimes.

Biff calmly looked down at the hand on his arm. “Okay, tough guy,” he said. And decked Davey.

Stumbling, Davey raised his arms to hit back, but Biff caught him in the stomach, then the jaw, before he could make a move. Jack already knew how this was going to turn out. For all his dandy looks, Ellison was one of Kelly’s best fighters. Davey wasn’t going to win this.

And, for all he hated this, he was going to have to get in the fight.

Crutchie had bent to help Les up and pull him out the way. Now he was watching the fight with wide eyes. “Jack, c’mon,” he pleaded. “You ain’t gonna let him do that, are ya?”

Balling up his fists, Jack prayed someone just once would listen, and that he would be forgiven for this. “I told ya, _gimp_ ,” he growled, grabbing the front of Crutchie’s shirt. “I. Ain’t. Jack.”

He tried to pull his punches a little; besides being his best friend once upon a time, Crutchie wasn’t really able to defend himself. But he got in a couple of solid hits, enough to convince Biff of which side he was on, before Crutchie fell to the ground. Feeling sick to his stomach, Jack kicked his crutch away, before landing a solid kick to the boy’s gut.

Turning, he saw Davey had managed to hold his own, somewhat, and Biff was getting impatient. Shoving him back, Biff pulled his gun out, pointing it at Davey.

“No!” Les shouted, looking like he was about to launch himself at Biff.

Jack moved first, putting himself between Biff and Davey. “ ‘ey, ‘ey, Biff, they ain’t worth it. Look at ‘em. They’s just Newsies. They’s no one important.”

He didn’t lower the gun, but Biff’s stance relaxed minutely. “Newsies, huh? Got any money?”

The three boys didn’t say anything. Blood trickled from Davey’s nose, Crutchie’s chest heaved, and Les looked torn between anger and tears. Biff jerked his head at them.

“Sully, search ‘em.”

Avoiding eye contact with them, Jack roughly went through the boys’ pockets, gathering the change they’d earned from selling papes that day. He turned back to Biff, leaving three hurt, confused boys behind him.

Biff waited until he was back by his side before holstering his gun. “Alright you three. Scram.”

Davey and Les helped Crutchie to his feet and, casting one last look at Jack, they turned and hobbled away.

“Hmph,” Biff straightened his coat. “Nice work, Sully. Now, let’s discuss your next assignment.”

Jack took one last look at the retreating backs of Crutchie, Davey, and Les, before following Biff down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. That was hard to write. 
> 
> Minor historical notes: "skirt" was a term used for an attractive woman, and “gimp” was a term to describe a crippled person. Joseph Pulitzer had seven children—Joseph Jr. Ralph, Herbert, Constance, Edith, Lucille, and Katherine. Historically, only five of his children lived into adulthood. Lucille died of typhoid fever at 17 and Katherine died of pneumonia at only 2. But Fierstein, Feldman, Menken, and the rest of the Newsies fandom choose to ignore that last one, so here we are.
> 
> Kath and some of the other Newsies ~should~ make an appearance next chapter. If they so choose. We'll see.
> 
> Two chapters in two days? Yeah... don't get used to that...
> 
> I can promise it will get happier. Can't say when, but it will.
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Newsies are shocked into silence, Katherine makes a brief appearance, and I probably create more questions than answer them.

All chatter in the front room of the Lodging House died as Crutchie, Davey, and Les stumbled through the front door.

“Hey!” Elmer jumped up to help lower Crutchie into a chair. “Wha’ happened ta you three? The Delancey’s catch ya?”

Crutchie gritted his teeth and stared at the floor. Elmer looked up to Davey for answers.

Wincing as he leaned against the wall, Davey exhaled loudly. “It wasn’t the Delancey’s. It was Jack.”

It was silent for half a second before the Newsies erupted into noise, yelling and clamoring to be heard.

“Jack’s _alive_?”

“He ain’t in Santa Fe?”

“He soaked ya?”

“What would he do that for?”

“You saw Jack?”

The last one came out softer than the rest, but was still heard over even the loudest Newsies using their sellin’ voices. The din died as everyone turned to look at Race, who was sitting by himself in the corner.

They’d all taken Jack leaving them so suddenly hard, but in a turn that surprised them all, Racetrack had took it especially to heart. He’d been worse off than even Crutchie, and Crutchie’d known Jack longer than anyone.

“Yeah, we saw Jack,” Davey said, sounding tired, crossing an arm across his stomach. “Acted like he didn’t know us, said his name was, uhm…”

“Sully.” Les said quietly.

Davey nodded. “Sully, yeah. Didn’t look too good himself. Black eye, walkin’ funny, seemed hurt.”

“Not hurt enough to stop ‘im from hittin’ Crutchie,” Les muttered, crossing his arms. He’d been quiet the entire walk back, mourning the fall of his idol.

Elmer gripped Crutchie’s shoulder. “He hit _Crutchie_?” he asked in disbelief.

Crutchie shrugged Elmer’s hand off, standing abruptly, swaying with the movement. “Davey got it worse,” he muttered before hobbling up the stairs.

Davey sat in the chair Crutchie had vacated with a loud sigh. “I mean. He’s not wrong. Big guy Jack had with him. And Jack… I’ve seen him in a fight. He wasn’t trying. Not hard, anyway.”

Les slung an arm around Davey’s neck, leaning his head on his brother’s shoulder. “But why would he soak us in the first place? Or leave us?”

“I don’t know, Les,” Dave answered honestly, wrapping an arm around Les. “But we know he’s in New York, at least. Maybe we can bump into him again, get some answers.”

“Where’d you see him?” Romeo asked from the back of the room.

Davey tipped his head back against wall, thinking. “‘Round Little Water. Crutchie and Les were trying a new selling route.”

“Little Water?” JoJo piped up. “Ain’t that over by Five Points?”

Specs frowned, cleaning his glasses on his sleeve. “What’s Jack doin’ over on Paul Kelly’s turf?”

“Well,” Davey said, shifting so Les wasn’t leaning so heavily on his hurt side. “We don’t know that he’s necessarily on Paul Kelly’s turf, we just know we saw him around there.”

“Maybe he’s in trouble,” Finch suggested, snapping the band on his slingshot. “Lookin’ beat up, in Kelly’s territory? That don’t sound like he’s well off.”

Albert pulled off his hat and twisted it in his hands. “But that don’t explain why he was out there, soakin’ Davey an’ Crutchie.”

“That’s why we gotta find him,” Davey said with a note of finality in his voice.

“How do we do that?” Les asked.

“I sell on Broadway,” Tommy Boy offered after a moment. “I could keep an eye out there.”

“I got the Bowery!” JoJo said, jumping up from his chair.

Every Newsie joined in, talking over one another, shouting ideas for how to bring back Jack. They were so excited to contribute that no one noticed Racetrack stand and quietly slip out the door.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack leaned against the wall of the building, arms crossed as he waited for the show to let out. All they knew about Katherine Pulitzer was that she worked the entertainment beat for the _Sun_ , reviewing vaudeville shows and flower shows. It didn’t seem too exciting to Jack, honestly, following some girl reporter doing fluff pieces.

And, really, he didn’t like where it was taking him.

Medda’s theatre hadn’t changed since he’d been there two years ago. Except, he noticed with a sense of pride he quickly shoved down, there were now giant SHOW SOLD OUT signs plastered across the front.

Jack was supposed to be keeping an eye on the girl, but he couldn’t go into Medda’s place. Not after the last couple of days he’d had, with the boys recognizing him this morning, and being on thin ice with Paul. He couldn’t risk it.

There was a shifting in the alley next to him. Hooking his thumb through a belt loop, Jack turned. “You’s early, Racer. We wasn’t s’posed to meet ‘til Friday, right?”

Racetrack let out a low whistle when he saw Jack’s face. “Davey weren’t lyin’ when he said you didn’t look good. Ya look like hell, Jackie.”

He huffed a laugh. “Thanks, kid.”

“What happened?”

Jack shrugged, grimacing when the movement jostled his ribs. “Didn’t follow through on a job like I shoulda.”

Race was quiet for a minute, scuffing the ground with his boot, before saying quietly, “It shoulda been me.”

Shaking his head, Jack was already replying before the other boy could finish. “Don’t say that, Racer.”

“It’s true!” Race exclaimed, his eyes filled with angry tears. “It should be me, workin’ fer Kelly, gettin’ beat up for my mistakes, not you, Jack!”

Jack gripped his shoulders, forcing Racetrack to look him in the eye. “Ya don’t want this life, Race. Trust me, it’s—it’s not—”

Race cut him off. “I’m tha one who screwed up in tha firs’ place, walkin’ in that gamblin’ den. If I’da just—”

“You was desperate. We all was. Joe hiked up the prices of the papes—”

“You evah wonder what it woulda been like if we’d gone on strike like Davey said?” Race’s eyes were wide, had a wild look in them.

Jack sighed. He thought about it, sometimes, but it never made him feel better, and it wouldn't help Race any. So he dropped his hands and said, “Nah, kid. It ain’t any good thinkin’ what if. ‘Sides, how would we’ve convinced ‘im? We got nothin’, no way of takin’ Pulitzer down.”

Race hung his head quietly, nodding a bit, swiping under his eyes. Jack sighed again. It was the same conversation they’d been having for the last two years.

“How are the boys?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Shrugging, Race crossed his arms. “The boys know you’s in New York now. _And_ they saw the number ya did on Davey and Crutchie.”

Wincing, Jack ignored the second part and asked, “Where’d they think I was before?”

Race rocked back on his heels. “Out West. Santa Fe. Ya talked about it enough.”

“They gonna try and find me now?”

Racetrack shrugged again. “Might. That’s what they was talkin’ ‘bout when I left.”

Jack was about to reply, when he saw theatregoers spill out into the street, a certain redhead among them. He had to go. “Look, I gotta run, but can you keep ‘em off the scent? They can’t be gettin’ close like Davey, Les, and Crutchie did today, okay?”

Race brushed a hand under his nose. “Yeah, I’ll try.” And then, after a moment of looking like he was arguing with himself, threw his arms around Jack’s neck with a soft, “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Before Jack could react, Racetrack had already pushed him away roughly and turned, walking back in the direction of the Lodging House.

Jack wanted to go after him, shake him ‘til Racer understood—this wasn’t a life Race wanted, or deserved, and Jack would rather die than see any of the boys in his position.

But if he lost the girl reporter on his first night, he would be dead, and no good to anyone.

Not that he was much good to anyone now.

Rubbing his forehead with a hand, Jack turned the opposite direction and, keeping his distance, followed Katherine down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot... thickens? Or just confuses? You tell me. 
> 
> Five Points (the area, not the gang) was a place in Manhattan where four roads converged. One of those roads was called Little Water. The whole area lay between Broadway and the Bowery.
> 
> I really wanted Katherine to be in this chapter more, but I have a really specific way I want to introduce her, and it just didn't fit here. Hang in there, our favorite reporter will show up!
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is not as sneaky as he thinks, does some lying, and Katherine makes his life just a little bit harder.

Katherine felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and her shoulders tensed. She’d thought she was crazy, the first time she noticed him skulking around the flower show she was reviewing on Tuesday. He stuck out like a sore thumb, hat pulled low over his face, barely hiding an atrocious black eye. She caught his gaze briefly, and quickly looked back down at her notebook.

By the time Katherine had turned back to get a closer look at him, he was gone. So she’d shaken it off, continued on with her day.

But then she noticed him outside the _Sun_ ’s office, across from the restaurant she and Darcy had eaten at, following her home from Medda Larkin’s theatre.

He never approached her, never called out. Just... followed her

Katherine wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed or frightened by him.

It was a week since she’d first spotted him, now, and he was getting bolder, following her more closely. It wasn’t late, just pushing dusk, but the street was empty, and she was still three blocks from her apartment. Katherine wasn’t going to give him the chance to jump her, or rob her, or…

She swallowed tightly, clenching her fists. _You are Katherine Pulitzer. You will not let some man on the street scare you._  She whirled around to face him. “What are you doing?”

Too late, Katherine realized she’d probably just made a huge mistake. She’d always been driven by her gut instinct, regardless of how impulsive or reckless the instinct was.

But it had been a week, she reasoned. He’d had plenty of opportunities to hurt her if that was his intention.

He looked stricken, stumbling back a step. Katherine followed him, jabbing a finger in his chest.

“What are you doing?” she demanded again, her words sharp. “What do you want, and who the _hell_ are you?”

The man—boy, really, he didn’t look much older than her—looked panicked, his eyes wide as he tried to sputter out an answer. A cold sense of dread washed over her.

“Oh, no,” Katherine jabbed his chest again. “Do you work for my father? Did he hire you to… what? Follow me? Make sure I ‘stay out of trouble’? Oooh!” She pushed him away from her, rolling her eyes. Her father had been keeping an annoyingly close eye on her ever since she’d turned down his offer to work for the _World_. It had only gotten worse when she moved out last month, but to _hire_ someone to _follow_ her?

This was a new level of overprotection.

“I am _not_ a child anymore, I don’t know why he insists on treating me like one,” she grumbled, fully aware of how petulant and childlike she sounded. Casting him a dark look, Katherine lifted her chin, raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

He seemed to finally regain the ability to speak. “‘Well’, wha’?”

Katherine waved a hand at him. “Did my father hire you?”

“Your—yeah. Yes. Your father hired me.” He nodded quickly. “I… I work for your father.”

“Fantastic,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, you can tell my father that I’m on to him, and that I don’t appreciate him invading my privacy like this.”

“I—I can’t do that, Miss Pulitzer,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes wide.

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “And why not?”

“‘Cause—‘cause I’s not s’posed to get close enough ta talk ta ya, and if he finds out, he’ll prob’ly fire me.”

“I’m not seeing a downside here,” she said, unimpressed.

He rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, a loud, gusty noise. “I need this job, Miss Pulitzer. I gotta family ta look afta, and they’s dependin’ on my keepin’ this job.”

Katherine wanted to feel sympathetic, but between the anger at her father and the residual fear of having this strange man following her, she didn’t have it in her to feel badly for him. “Well, maybe you should do your family a favor and get a respectable job, instead of taking a petty prowling job from my father.”

Something hardened in his eyes and he stiffened. Katherine took a step back at the look on his face. The bruises she noticed the first time she saw him had faded considerably, but he clearly didn’t need them to prove he was a dangerous man.

“Believe me, Miss Pulitzer,” his voice was low and had an edge to it. “Workin’ for your father is the last thing I wanna be doin’. I wouldn’t be doin’ it if it weren’t for my family, so you can run home ta Daddy and tell ‘im ya don’t want me tailin’ ya, but ‘til I hears it from Joe personally, you ain’t gettin’ rid’a me.”

Katherine suppressed a shiver, unwilling to let it show that he’d gotten to her, in any way. Instead of answering him, she turned on her heel to stalk away.

“Wait,” she heard behind her. Katherine stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. She heard him sigh.

“I didn’t mean ta scare ya, Miss Pulitzer. An’ really, ‘m just watchin’, reportin’ back ta ya father. I won’t ever talk ta ya again if that’s whatcha want. I just… I need this job.”

He actually sounded… sincere, almost. Like he was really worried about losing this job. But he’d been rude to her, he’d scared her, and she probably wasn’t really going to talk to her father (not now, anyway), but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Schooling her features, Katherine turned her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. “Do whatever you want. But don’t expect me to make your job any easier.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Katherine Pulitzer was a lotta things, but a liar wasn’t one of them, Jack came to realize.

She was always two steps ahead of him, ducking into alleyways when she thought he wasn’t looking, backtracking and taking different routes to get to work, home, wherever. But Jack grew up on these streets, knew which shortcuts to take to find her. He never lost her for more than a few minutes.

One of the things Katherine _was_ , Jack learned after the week and a half of following her, was a hard worker.

_Too_ _hard_ , he thought, sitting across from the _Sun_ ’s office. Katherine showed up early, stayed late, and constantly rushed from one appointment with a source to another. Today, he was going on four hours without seeing hide or hair of her.

Jack twisted a gum wrapper in his hand, thinking about the other night. He wasn’t sure how long he could pretend to be working for Pulitzer before she found out the truth, but he would ride it out as long as he could. Technically, it wasn’t that big a lie, seeing as he did work for Pulitzer once.

He really hadn’t meant to scare her like he did. She didn’t say anything, but Jack saw the look in her eyes when he’d snapped at her. There was something about her that just… got under his skin. Asking why didn’t he get a respectable job to help his family. She didn’t know the last thing about what he did or why.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Jack looked up to see an older woman standing next to him. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, pulling his hat off instinctively. Eileen Kelly raised a good, respectable boy, after all.

How she was probably turning in her grave to see her good, respectable boy now.

It hit him like a blow to the gut, thinking about his mother. He’d had her memory locked away even longer than he’d been working for Kelly—oh, and how she woulda hated that. A thug using their fine family name to run his gambling dens and threaten innocent people.

What would she think of him now? Would he even be in this situation if she hadn’t died? Would he still be a Newsie, would he have even met any of the boys, still feel responsible for them—?

Forcing those thoughts back, he put on a fake smile to give the woman directions. He meant what he said to Racer. It wasn’t any good asking what if.

He nodded at her as she left, turned back towards the office building, catching a flash of auburn turn the corner. Katherine glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes widening when she realized she’d been caught, and disappeared.

Jack leapt off the bench, jamming his hat on his head and raced after her. _Dammit,_ he thought. This girl reporter would be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait. Wrapping up the semester, making sure the Christmas fics are in place, and still having only a vague idea of where I'm going with this one, it's been tough, finding the time to sit down and write. I tried making up for it with a little bit longer of a chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me on this train wreck called my life.
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katherine tries to be friendly and Jack sticks his foot in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out, I'm posting! AND it's finally ~mostly~ outlined, so the time between updates shouldn't be quite as long.

“What’s your name?” Katherine asked her bodyguard, who was unwittingly walking beside her instead of trailing her.

It’d been two weeks since she first confronted him, and he’d been true to his word as much as she’d been to hers. He didn’t approach her to talk, and Katherine did everything she could to lose him. Problem was, he was  _really_ good at keeping up with her.

She hadn’t had the chance to talk to her father about him, yet, but there was… something, about him she trusted. He kept a respectable distance, didn’t talk to her, always vanished when she took a meal with Darcy or Bill.

Katherine didn’t know him from Adam, wasn’t sure if she really could trust him, but she thought… Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to try and get to know him, would it?

And, really, two weeks without knowing his name was a little ridiculous.

He didn’t meet her eye as he answered. “Francis Sullivan. Folks call me Sully.”

Call it a hunch, but Katherine got the distinct impression he was lying to her. It sounded too forced, too rehearsed. “Is that your real name?”

“What reason do I got fer lyin’ ta ya, Miss Pulitzer?” he asked tiredly.

“And why won’t you call me Katherine?” She appreciated his attempt to be polite, but _really_. Only her editor and the men at the _Sun_ call her ‘Miss’—there, of course, it was Miss Plumber, but still, most of them had started calling her Katherine after a year or so.

“It’s only proper, Miss Pulitzer.”

Katherine figured she wasn’t getting anywhere with work talk. Maybe he’d be more open to talking about the family he mentioned. “What’s your family like?” She looked over to see a muscle jump in his jaw.

“Anyone ever tell ya ya ask too many questions?” His voice had a hard edge to it. It held a warning to it; one Katherine chose to ignore.

Shrugging, she replied with, “It’s what reporters do.”

Scoffing, he spat out, “Is that what ya call what ya do? Reportin’? Goin’ from vaudeville show ta vaudeville show, writin’ ‘bout costumes an’ stupid songs? Real hard-hittin’ news, _Ace_.” 

It stung worse than it should have. She barely knew this man; nothing outside a likely false name and that he worked for her father. But with his words, she heard every sneer, every jibe, from her father, the editors, her brothers.

_Entertainment is a fine field… for a young woman such as yourself._

_A_ girl _? What the hell, is that even legal?_

_What’s new in the vaudeville world, Kitty?_

Katherine had mostly given up a while ago on being a true reporter. Editors tended to view women as too sensitive to write “real” news, her father included, even though just four years ago, the best exposé his paper had ever run was from a woman investigator. No one would give her a chance, and it didn’t seem likely that anyone would.

It would have hurt less if he’d slapped her.

Pulling her bag across her chest defensively, she tried to blink away the tears that were prickling at the back of her eyes. “You—” Clearing her throat, Katherine clutched her bag tighter. “You don’t have any right to speak to me like that. You don’t know me.”

She quickened her pace, bent on leaving him behind, refusing to run until she’d turned the corner. Tears blurred her vision, but she kept going, miraculously managing not to bump into anyone, or anything.

Katherine honestly wasn’t sure if she was even headed towards her apartment anymore, she just knew she had to get away from that Francis Sullivan, or whatever the hell his name was.

Turning a corner, her luck ran out, and she ran right into a hard chest. Strong, rough hands gripped her biceps.

She jerked away. “Sully” was too good at finding her when she tried disappearing, and she was sick of it.

Katherine looked up, ready to tell him off, but stopped short.

There were two men in front of her, sneering. Both were taller than Sully was, and looked much more dangerous.

“Well, hello, Miss Pulitzer. Take a stroll wit’ us, wouldja?”

Katherine swallowed hard. She may very well be in real danger now.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand, as Katherine turned the corner, not bothering to follow her.

It was true, he reasoned to himself, leaning against a lamppost. As much as Katherine wanted to be a reporter, that’s not what she was. But that wasn’t the real problem, he knew.

She was just gettin’ too friendly, askin’ questions she had no right to be askin’, about his real name, and his family. He’d reacted the only way he knew how to anymore and snapped at her.

 _You don’t know me_.

“Well, that makes two o’ us, Miss Pulitzer,” he said, pushing off the post to follow her.

Turning the same corner she had, Jack saw no sign of her. “Aw, _c’mon_ ,” he muttered, stalking down the street.

She was gettin’ better at this avoidin’ him thing, Jack thought as he wove his way through little back alleyways, searching for Katherine. He’d never lost her for this long.

Rounding another corner, he came across a scene that made his blood run cold.

What the _hell_ were they doing here, screwin’ with his operation?

Biff held Katherine by her biceps, trying to force her into following him and Johnny. Katherine, to her credit, was puttin’ up a hell of a fight, dragging her feet and trying to twist outta Biff’s grip.

She managed to get one arm free enough to take a swing at Johnny, catching him in the jaw. He didn’t seem too fazed, but Jack saw the muscle in his jaw jump, and Johnny raised his hand as though he were going to hit her back.

 _Aw, hell_.

He couldn’t explain the surge of protectiveness he felt, but before he knew it, Jack had broken into a sprint and tackled Johnny to the ground.

“What the hell—?” Johnny yelped. Biff, caught off guard as well, loosened his grip on Katherine, and she wrenched free, swinging her arm to hit him like she had Johnny. Biff, recovering quickly, caught her arm and shoved her backwards.

“’S matter wit’cha?” Jack growled at Johnny.

Johnny spat at him. “What tha’ hell, Sully?”

“You’s gonna blow my cover, Torrio,” Jack said lowly. “Get outta here, and don’t let me catch ya anywhere nears her again.”

Shoving Jack away from him, Johnny stood, gesturing for Biff to follow him. Jack stood as well, keeping himself between Katherine and the two men, and watched them leave. Waiting until they disappeared around the building, he turned to Katherine.

She looked fine, mostly, shaken up, a slight tremble to her features. Her hand was bleeding from split knuckles, and her skirt was torn, but she coulda been hurt a lot worse by those two idiots.

Jack approached her slowly, reaching a hand out. “Ya okay?” She nodded, a little weakly. Leading her by the elbow, he steered her towards his apartment. “C’mon, my place ain’t too far away from here, let’s git ya cleaned up.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack pushed open the door to his apartment, leading Katherine inside. “C’min, take a seat, uh, on the bed, or at tha’ table, wherever ya comfortable.”

She perched herself in one of the two chairs by the table as he opened the cabinet he had the vodka in, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Glancing back at Katherine, Jack saw her take in the small space, biting her lip, looking like she wanted to say something.

“Ya look like ya got ‘nother question, Miss Pulitzer.” She looked a little guilty, and Jack shrugged, waving for her to continue as he searched for some clean bandages. “Go ‘head. Far be it from me ta stop a reporter from askin’ questions.”

“Sorry, I just… You said you had family, and—” Katherine waved a hand around the empty apartment.

“What, was you expectin’ a wife, a couple’a kids?”

“Well… Kind of, yeah.”

He shook his head. “Nah, my family’s mostly brothers. I don’t live with them anymore.”

“How many brothers do you have?” she asked carefully.

“Couple dozen.” Jack answered, hand finally closing on a bottle of alcohol. He straightened and turned to join her at the table.

“Big Irish family?” Katherine joked lightly.

He laughed a bit, and she looked immensely pleased with herself. “Somethin’ like that, I guess.” Sitting in the chair next to her, Jack reached for her hand, freezing when she recoiled a bit. “Sorry, I jus’—I was gonna wrap up ya hand there. But if ya don’t want—”

Shaking her head quickly, Katherine cut him off. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just—still shaken, I guess. Here,” she slowly offered him her hand. Jack examined the back of her hand, taking in the split and slightly swollen knuckles.

“Ya gotta helluva right hook, there, Miss Pulitzer. Can ya do this?” He curled and uncurled his hand into a fist, and she copied the movement. “Alright, good, ya didn’t break nothin’. Just split a couple’a knuckles.” Offering the vodka to her, Jack asked, only somewhat joking, “Want a swig o’ this ‘fore I waste in on your hand?”

She shook her head again, and he shrugged, tipping the bottle onto a clean handkerchief and, holding her hand again, dabbed at her knuckles. They were quiet for a moment, him cleaning her cuts and her watching him.

“You’re good at this,” Katherine observed quietly.

“Yeah, well. Lotta brothers, like I said. Someone’s always brawlin’, lotta cuts and scrapes ta clean.” Jack said lightly, reaching for another handkerchief. Strange as it seemed, he missed this. He hadn't patched anyone up but himself in the last two years. The boys had always come to him after gettin' soaked to get patched up—apparently Crutchie had told the guys Jack was the best at it, and the kid was so honest, no one questioned it. Jack had fashioned more slings, wrapped more limbs, and cleaned more cuts than he ever thought he would in his time as a Newsie. 

“Are you the oldest?” She still seemed nervous to be askin’ personal questions again, probably waitin’ for him to snap again. He wasn’t—she’d been through enough tonight, she didn’t need him yellin’ at her too.

Shaking his head, Jack wrapped the clean bandage around her hand, pushing back his memories for now. “Nah, not tha oldest. But I always seemed ta be tha one in charge. And that included takin’ care of tha idiots who got inta fights they couldn’t win. Uh—” he looked up at her quickly. “Not that ‘m callin’ ya an idiot or nothin’—”

“No, I am.” Katherine said honestly, and a little forced, like it wasn’t somethin’ she liked admitting. “I wasn’t paying attention, and I let them get the drop on me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. So, thank you… Francis.”

At his fake name, he flicked his gaze up to look at her. There was something sincere in her gaze that he didn’t want to think too hard about. Knotting the handkerchief, Jack stood. “Lemme walk ya home,” he offered her his hand to help her stand. “Katherine.”

It wasn’t until they were out on the street that she said, “I’m sorry, but _Francis_? I still don’t believe that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical: Nellie Bly's articles about the Woman's Insane Asylum on Blackwell Island ran in the New York World in 1887. The phrase "get the drop on" came around in mid-19th century, and became well-known at the turn of the 20th century.
> 
> Non-historical: Reminder that this is a story without the strike-- characters are making OOC decisions, Katherine included. Without the strike to cover, Kath never made her break into real reporting. She's losing faith in ever actually making it as a reporter. There's still a fire in her, but after so many beating downs, it's weaker than we're used to seeing.
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katherine plays a guessing game and Jack falls asleep in strange places.

“O’Brian.”

“No.”

“Doyle.”

“Definitely not.”

“Lynch.”

“Why’s you so sure my name’s not Sullivan, Miss Pulitzer?”

Katherine’d been at it the whole walk back to her place, rattlin’ name after name off, convinced she could guess his real name. He was indulgin’ her for now, figured at the least it was a distraction for her.

She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest. “A hunch, I guess? I learned not to ignore my gut instinct.”

Jack nodded, understanding this. It was how he stayed alive on the streets for so long. “And ya gut says I’m a liar?”

“Not about everything. Just your name.” Katherine started to say more, but suddenly stopped in front of a building. “Oh, this is me.”

He craned his neck, raising an eyebrow. “So, I've been wonderin'—what’s a girl like you livin’ in a place like this? Don’t ya father got a mansion or somethin’?”

Nodding to the doorman as they entered, Katherine replied, “Well, my father’s mansion burned down last year. He’s been trying to have a new home built for a little over a year now. The leased house we’d been staying in was getting… crowded, so I found a place of my own.”

He vaguely remembered hearing about the Pulitzer mansion fire. It wasn’t long after he’d started working for Kelly, and he remembered thinkin’ it would be a good sellin’ day for the boys.

They climbed the stairs in silence, stopping on the second floor. Katherine hesitated outside her door, pulling a key from her bag. “Well, thank you… Brennan?”

Jack huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Not Brennan.”

She laughed as well, inserting the key in the lock. “Thank you, whoever you are, then, for walking me home. And wrapping my hand.”

Tipping his hat to her, he gave her a half-smile. “M’pleasure, Miss Pulitzer.”

Katherine smiled back, letting herself in her apartment and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Jack sighed. It was late, he should be headin’ back, and there was still Biff and Johnny to deal with… His hands curled into involuntary fists at the thought of those two idiots.

He didn’t like the thought of leavin’ her alone, not after Biff and Johnny had tried to snatch her tonight. Jack had never trusted those two and didn’t trust ‘em to not try somethin’ stupid, like try an’ take her outta her own apartment.

Though, he thought, pacing outside her door, Paul had never mentioned her livin’ on her own, so maybe they didn’t know.

But the thought of leavin’ her alone, even with her clear ability to take care of herself, made Jack’s stomach turn.

 _Why do you care so much?_ a little voice in the back of his head asked. _She don’t mean nothin’ to ya._

He couldn’t explain why he felt so protective of her all of the sudden, or why his palm still felt all funny after holdin’ her hand, or why he was lettin’ her get this close at all.

A different voice piped up, one he hadn’t heard in a long time, the one that sounded like Crutchie. _Maybe she’s makin’ ya feel somethin’ ya haven’t felt before_.

Jack had… been with girls before, never anythin’ serious, and none of them had ever made him feel like he did with Ka—this girl reporter.

He shook his head. That was dangerous thinkin'. He was here for the boys, until he could figure out a way to get out. He couldn't get caught up in some  _girl_. A girl he was s'posed to be gettin' answers from, or he _would_ get the boys in trouble. He needed to try harder, get somethin' for Paul.

“It’s nothin’,” Jack muttered, settling his back against the door. Even if he wasn't gettin' caught up with her, there wasn't anyone he hated enough to leave at the mercy of Biff and Johnny. “Ya just miss takin’ care o’ someone. That’s all.”

The last thought he had before drifting into a restless slumber was how, for someone who’d made lyin’ a religious habit the last two years, he was havin’ trouble lyin’ to himself.

 

*~*~*~*~*

  

Katherine bustled around her apartment the next morning, going through her morning routine quickly. Her hand still ached a bit from the night before and made fastening the many clasps and buttons on the too-many layers she wore take twice as long as usual.

Grabbing her keys and notebook from the table, she shoved them into her bag and opened the door to her apartment, only to almost trip over…

“Francis?”

There were a great many things Katherine never expected to see outside her door so early in the morning, and a sleeping bodyguard was definitely among them.

She nudged him with the toe of her boot. “Francis?”

He jerked, blinking up at her as he tilted his head back. Staring blearily at her a moment, his eyes widened, and he stood quickly stumbling slightly into the wall before straightening sheepishly.

“Mornin’ Miss Pul’tzer,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Logically, she knew she should be more worried, frightened even, that he’d been bold enough to do something so brazen. At least worried about the scandalized whispers from her neighbors if they saw the two of them standing in the hallway, him looking especially rumpled and unshaven.

But an unmarried woman, working girl, who was living alone and in and out at all hours? Her neighbors had been whispering for a while now. So she decided to forget proper protocol for now and focus on not trying to look too happy to see him.

“Mr. Sullivan,” Katherine said carefully, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed. “Might I ask why you’re outside my apartment at this hour, looking like you’ve slept in the hallway?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down before placing his hat on his head. “Well, that migh’ be ‘cause I slept in the hallway.”

“And why did you do that?” Katherine pulled her keys from her bag to lock the front door.

“Makin’ sure those idiots Biff and Johnny didn’t come back,” he said offhandedly, tugging at the hem of his shirt, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothing.

She paused, the key hovering over the keyhole. “You… _know_ those men?”

Francis shrugged, looking more awake now. “I seen ‘em around. Not tha’ kinda company I like ta keep too much.”

Katherine bit her lip, locking the door. The shock had mostly worn off from last night, and now she was mostly angry that she’d been stupid enough to get caught by those thugs. “Do you know what they wanted? It didn’t seem like a mugging, and they knew who I was—”

“To be fair, most’a New York knows who ya are,” Francis pointed out as they made their way back down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

“I suppose.” It wasn’t really an answer, and it didn’t sit right with Katherine, but she let it go for now.

Their walk was mostly uneventful, the city still waking up around them. There were a few shop owners just beginning to open up for the day and a handful of Newsies already out, shouting the headlines to anyone who passed.

Katherine noticed how every time they passed a young Newsie, Francis kept his head down, as though to avoid eye contact. She started to ask him why, when he finally spoke.

“So…ya dad,” Francis said, somewhat awkwardly. “He’s in the paper game, ain’t he?”

“My father, Joseph Pulitzer, in the paper game? Yes, I believe he is,” Katherine laughed.

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, yeah, I know ya father’s in charge’a tha _World_ , I read tha papes. Does he got anythin’ big comin’ up?”

“Big how?”

“Dunno—the _World_ ’s always got somethin’ goin’.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for more than a few minutes in a couple of weeks. Why?”

“Dunno.” Francis shoved his hands in his pockets defensively. “Just wonderin’ ‘bout ya family. Ya don’t talk about ‘em much.”

“Well before two days ago, we didn’t talk much about anything.”

“That’s true, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just… wonderin’.”

Katherine shook her head. That had come out of nowhere. “I really don’t know anything,” she said apologetically. “But if we’re asking about families, can I ask about yours?”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “You can ask,” he said carefully. “Can’t guarantee I’ll give ya an answer.”

She nodded, not entirely satisfied with that, but figured she shouldn’t push him on this particular subject.

“Why does talking about your brothers make you sad?” Katherine finally asked. “Don’t deny it,” she said off the look he gave her. “I saw you last night when you mentioned them.”

Francis was quiet for a long time, and she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, “I ain’t seen ‘em in a while. Can’t.”

“Why not?”

His mouth twisted in displeasure. “It’s… compl’cated. I sends ‘em some money when I can, but I don’t get ta see ‘em too much.”

“Your choice or theirs?”

Francis tilted his head, considering. “Neither. Not really anyways. Uh, we can’t sees each other, or one’a us’ll get hurt. Can’t take that chance.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Hurt how?” He didn’t answer, kept his head down, and Katherine didn’t push it.

The rest of the walk to the office was quiet. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, Katherine turned to look at him. “I don’t know everything about you and your family, but you miss them. That’s clear. And... I know nothing happens if you just give in.”

Francis rocked back on his heels, studying her. She wasn’t sure if what she said was helpful, or something he needed—or wanted—to hear, but it was a philosophy she’d tried to live by, and mostly served her well.

Finally, he said, “Yeah. Guess so.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Hey! Hey, Jack! C’mon, Jack, it’s me! It’s Mush!”

Jack pulled the brim of his cap low over his face and quickened his pace. He’d left Katherine at the office, not really in the mood to talk more about the boys, and hadn’t thought about the Newsies still bein’ out an sellin’.

“Jack?” Specs called from across the street. Keeping his head low Jack kept moving, and heard Specs say behind him “I don’t think that’s him, Mush.”

Sighing in relief, he turned into the tenement building, nearly bowling Frankie over in his haste.

“Heya, Frankie.” The man looked up at him and said something in Italian. Shrugging, Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, Frankie, m’friend only ever taught me the dirty Italian words. Gots no clue what’cha sayin’.”

Frankie shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, exiting the building.

“Nice guy,” Jack muttered. He continued up to his apartment, and the good feeling he’d been carrying around all day melted away when he saw what was waiting for him.

“Ellison. Torrio.”

“Sullivan.” Biff said distastefully. “C’mon, the boss wants t’see ya.”

Jack wasn’t surprised. He’d figured Biff and Johnny had gone to Paul as soon as they’d left him and Katherine last night. Silently, he turned and allowed them to lead him back out the building.

Thankfully, Mush and Specs were gone, and they didn’t encounter any other Newsies on their way to Kelly’s office.

Paul didn’t look up from the paper as they entered.

“Mornin’ Paul,” Jack said easily. “To what do I owe tha pleasure?”

“Mr. Sullivan.” Not good. Paul hadn’t called him that since he first started workin’ for him. “John and James tell me they had an altercation with you last night.”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t know ‘bout an ‘altercation’, but, yeah, I saw ‘em last night. They was tryin’ ta jump Ka—Miss Pulitzer, an’ I stopped ‘em. Is that what this is about? Me doin’ my job?”

“The question,” Paul finally looked up at him. “Is not about why John and James were following you last night, but whether or not you are remaining… professional with this particular job.”

Tilting his head at Paul, Jack raised an eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean—?”

“It has been two weeks and you have nothing on Pulitzer, on what his plan is, or if he’s even investigating us.” Paul spoke over Jack. “They were simply doing what you have not been able to—”

“They was stickin’ their noses where it didn’t belong,” Jack bit out. “An’ she’s startin’ ta trust me now, so you tells me who’s actin’ unprofessional, Paul.”

“She was at yer place, last night,” Biff said accusingly. “Ya call that professional, Sully?”

“What’re ya doin’, followin’ me too?” Jack demanded. “She was only there ‘cause I was makin’ sure ya idiots didn’t hurt ‘er too bad, an’ I cleaned up her hand. Nice bruise, Torrio,” he added sarcastically with a slight twinge of pride.

Paul raised a hand, stopping whatever Johnny was about to say. “If we don’t get answers, soon, Francis, we may have to resort to… drastic measures. Do you understand?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, and feeling slightly sick to his stomach, Jack nodded. “Gimme a week, Paul. I’ll have answers for ya then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long historical note because I find it funny: So, the Pulitzer mansion actually had two small fires in 1899, and the fire marshal was like "bruh. you're house is too big, if it catches on fire for real, your family's gonna have to jump out the windows." But Joe was like "yeah, whatever. I do what I want.” Well, January 9, 1900, ol' Joe's mansion caught on fire for real. The family leased the Sloane Mansion while Pulitzer tried to acquire a new home. The new home wasn't finished until 1903, because Pulitzer was hypersensitive to noise, since he'd been going blind, and demanded his personal rooms be soundproofed. It wasn't til 1904 that his bedroom was finally soundproofed to his liking. Joe only spent 8 years in the house before he died.
> 
> (historical dialogue is 100% accurate... probably)
> 
> O'Brian, Lynch, Brennan, and Doyle are among the 100 most popular Irish surnames (fun fact: Kelly is #2, at least according to the list I found)
> 
> ***
> 
> Poor Jack isn't very good at this sleuthing thing, is he??
> 
> This is kind of an unnecessarily long filler chapter, but I hope it'll hold you over while I finish up the next chapter, where we learn... the *whole* story...
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally learn the whole story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative summary: in which there are a LOT of emotions involved. You have been warned.

After his promise to Paul, Jack went back to his apartment, sighing heavily as he pushed open the door. Tommy Boy and Finch’d passed him on his way home, calling out to him like Mush and Specs had earlier.

Racer was s’posed to keep ‘em away, but either he hadn’t gotten ‘round to it, or, more likely, the boys were ignorin’ him and seekin’ out Jack on their own.

Dropping onto his bed, Jack rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He’d left the Lodging House two years ago to come work for Kelly, without so much as a goodbye to the boys. He’d wanted to protect them.

Is that what he was still doin’? So far, all he’d done was pass along a few bucks to ‘em through Race, soak ‘em, and ignore ‘em. It didn’t feel much like protectin’.

Pulling the pillow out from under his head, Jack buried his face in it and screamed until his lungs burned and his throat hurt. Punching it back into place, Jack shoved it back under his head and rolled toward the wall, pulling a blanket over his head, deciding to ignore the world for a few hours. He slept in fits and starts until it was dark out, before finally standing and changing out of his wrinkled clothes.

Standing in front of the lone mirror on the wall, the thoughts from before started filtering back as Jack mixed his shaving soap to rid his face of the stubble that he'd left unattended the last few days.

He owed the boys an explanation, he finally decided. Jack wasn't stupid, he knew that the boys in the Lodging House were family. Family wasn't s'posed to bail on each other. And he had.

At the very least, he reasoned, raking the razor down his jawline, he had to tell Crutchie something. He hadn’t missed the fact that, of all the Newsies he’d seen, his used-to-be best friend hadn’t been one of them.

Wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Jack hissed as he nicked his chin. Pressing a knuckle to the cut in hopes of stopping the bleeding, Jack stared at his reflection. 

Something was different. He'd spent the last two years carefully putting on the mask of Francis Sullivan. And for the first time in over a year, there was just a hint of Jack Kelly looking back at him.

He wasn't sure if it scared or reassured him. 

Dropping his razor, Jack roughly scrubbed his face with a towel and shoved his feet into his boots. He was gonna go see Crutchie. The Lodging House wasn’t too far from his apartment. He’d be there and back before daybreak, and he had to find Racer, first, make sure he was okay with someone else knowin’ the story.

It still took him about an hour to arrive at the Lodging House. Sticking to the alley beside the building, Jack saw the faint glow of a lit cigar near the entrance. The moonlight illuminated a head of messy blond curls, and sighing a bit in relief, he approached Race.

“Heya, Racer.”

To his credit, Race only flinched a little, covering the motion by abruptly yanking the cigar out of his mouth. “Dammit, Jack, give a guy a warnin’ first, wouldja?”

“Sorry, kid. Here, I brought’cha somethin’.” Jack pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and held it out to Race. The only perk he’d found in workin’ for Kelly was he had enough money to give to the boys every couple months. “For you and the boys. Sorry it ain’t more, but—”

Race shook his head, taking the envelope carefully. “Nah, thanks Jackie. Slush fund’s been gettin’ low, this’ll help.”

They stood quietly a moment, Jack scuffing the ground a bit before saying, “Look, Racer. Some o’ the boys have been catchin’ up wit’ me. Specs, Mush, Tommy Boy, and Finch just today, and—”

“Sorry, Jack,” Race groaned, knotting a hand in his hair. “I tried keepin’ ‘em from doin’ that. Some of ‘em don’t hear to good, apparently. I can—”

Jack cut him off, laying a hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder. “No, ‘m not sayin’ that, Racer. It just got me thinkin’… I gotta tell Crutchie. Somethin’ at least, an apology fer soakin’ him. I won’t tell ‘im everythin’ if ya don’t want, but I gotta give ‘im somethin’.”

Race took a long drag of his cigar and let it out slowly, the smoke wafting in the pale moonlight. Finally, he said, “Tell ‘im everythin’.”

Nodding, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “He still up in the penthouse?”

“Yeah.” Snubbing the cigar out on the wall behind him, Race turned, his shoulders hunched, to go back inside.

“Hey.” Race stopped, but didn’t turn. “Thanks, Anthony.”

Scoffing, he turned back to Jack with a slight smile on his face. “Aw, don’t get mushy on me, Cowboy. Go talk ta Crutchie.”

Laughing a bit, Jack turned to climb the stairs of the fire escape, making his way up to what used to be his and Crutchie’s penthouse.

Pulling himself up the last steps, he found Crutchie curled up on his bedroll. Even in the faint light of the moon, Jack could see the still-fading bruises on his former best friend’s face. Wincing, he pulled off his fedora and knelt next to Crutchie, shaking his shoulder.

“Crutch—hey, Charlie, wake up.”

“Wha’—?” Crutchie scrunched his nose and blinked slowly awake. When he saw Jack, however, his eyes widened and he jerked back, scrambling to put distance between them.

“Hey, hey, no, Charlie, look at me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Wincing again at his phrasing, Jack amended, “Again.”

Crutchie’s eyes were wide, fearful. “Whaddaya want, Jack? Ya already soaked me, took what little money I ‘ad, what more do ya want?”

“That’s why I’m here, Charlie.” He hadn’t used Crutchie’s real name so much in years, but it didn't feel right usin' the nickname, like they was still friends. Digging in his pocket, Jack pulled out a handful of change, more than he’d taken earlier, but he figured he owed it to the kid, and held it out to Crutchie. When Crutchie didn’t take it, Jack slowly set the change down on the bedroll. “That, an’ ta tell ya ‘m sorry.”

“Yer _sorry_?” Crutchie’s eyes flashed. “Ya leave me fer two years, soak me, takes my money, an’ all ya gots to say is _sorry_?”

“I know, it ain’t much, but—”

“Ya damn right it ain’t much!” Crutchie shouted, standing unsteadily. “Ya just—just _left_ , Jack! Ya promised you’d never let me down, always be there, and whaddaya do? You _leave_! _You let me down_!” Crutchie’s eyes were filled with furious tears, and he started swinging wildly, catching Jack in the stomach, the chest. Jack stood there, let the kid have at it. It wasn’t even close to what he deserved.

“Y’know what happened afta ya _left_? Weasel got worse, the Delancey’s was soakin’ us every day, and Snyder—” Crutchie took a shuddering breath. “Snyder started roundin’ us up. Me an’ Racer an’ Buttons, half da boys, even Les for awhile, we was all in the Refuge. An’ there weren’t no one ta take care o’ us! ‘Cause you _left_ , Jack!” He lost his balance then, falling into Jack, his chest heaving. “Why’d ya leave us, Jack?” he whispered.

Jack wrapped his arms around Crutchie, not quite sure how to respond. He always thought leaving the boys was the best for them, but maybe leaving them just made things worse. "I—I didn't know."

"How could ya? Ya weren't  _here_ ," Crutchie muttered, his grip on Jack's shirt tight, though Jack was sure it was more to keep himself upright more than anything.

Gently, he pushed Crutchie away, saying "C'mon, kid. Sit down, an' I'll tells ya the whole thing."  

He tried to help Crutchie sit, but his friend knocked his hands away, doing it himself, which really just ended in Crutchie landing unceremoniously on his bedroll. Jack didn't say anything, just sat down next to him, making sure to keep a slight distance between them.

"Well?" Crutchie said, swiping roughly under his eyes, carefully avoiding Jack's gaze and the money by his pillow. "What's tha whole thing?"  

Jack stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands. “Back when Pulitzer and Hearst raised the prices of the papes, an’ we tried strikin’, an’ we couldn’t ‘cause we gots soaked too bad when Pulitzer found out, Racer went out an’ found himself in one’a Paul Kelly’s gamblin’ dens.”

As Jack spoke, the memories of the day he went to work for Kelly came flooding back to him.

_He'd been teachin' Les more sellin' tricks—everyone needed as much help as they could get, payin' more for their papes—when Race came in, lookin' like hell, tearing at the wrapper of his cigar nervously._

_"Hey, uh, Jack? Can I talk ta ya?"_

_Jack looked up at Race's tone. His normally cheerful second-in-command had his moments of seriousness, but this was different. Racer sounded worried, scared, even. "Yeah, sure, Racer." He turned back to Les. "You's doin' good, kid. We'll work on it more tomorrow. Get'cha bag and ask one'a the older boys ta walk ya home, okay?"_

_"Thanks Jack!" Les scampered out of the room, yelling for Specs._

_Jack stood and looked at Race. "Alright, kid. What's gotcha twitchy?"_

_Race sank to the ground, sliding his hands in his hair, clenching his hands in his curls. "'M in real trouble."_

_"What is it? Snyder? The Delanceys?" Race shook his head. "What is it, Racer?"_

_“Jackie, it’s bad,” Race moaned, still gripping the sides of his head, his knuckles white._

_“Okay, Race,” Jack knelt beside him, covering one hand with his, easing the grip Race had on his hair. “Use ya words, kid, tell me what happened.”_

  _Shaking his head slowly, Race let out a shaky breath. "It's Five Points," he whispered. "I was in one'a them gamblin' dens—"_

_“What was you doin’, over on Paul Kelly’s turf?" Jack interrupted. "Thought ya played cards over in Brooklyn with Conlon’s boys?”_

_Race picked at the wrapper of his cigar, flakes of paper and tobacco falling to his lap. "Wasn’t makin’ hardly any money there, Brooklyn was hit just as bad as we was when Pulitzer raised the prices. One a tha Brooklyn boys told me ‘bout the gamblin’ dens in Five Points, so’s I went. And I was doin’ good, Jack, bringin’ in lots, lots more than I could sellin’ papes. And then...” He shook his head again._

_"What happened, kid?" Jack coaxed, nudging him._

_"Made a bad bet 'gainst the wrong guy. Thought it was a sure thing, an' it wasn't, an' I lost. I didn't have 'nuff_ _ta pay back what I lost. They's—They said I was gonna pay 'em back, no matta what."_

  _Jack rubbed the younger boy's shoulder, thinking. He'd never had the displeasure of meeting anyone from Paul Kelly's gang, but he'd heard whispers. An' whatever they meant by Racer payin' 'em back didn't sound too good._

_"Okay, kid," he clapped Race on the shoulder and stood. "Stay here. I'm gonna go talk to 'em."_

_Race looked up, surprised. "No 'fense, Jackie, but what can_ you _do that makes this better?"_

_He shrugged. "'M pretty good at sweet-talkin' folks, Race, ya know that."_

_Snorting, Race shook his head. "Girls, maybe, an' I dunno if ya can call it sweet-talkin'—"_

_"Whatever it is, 'm good at it. Don't worry kid, I'll get'cha off tha hook."_

"An' I did. Took his place, kinda. So's I've been wit' 'em ever since," Jack finished.

"So you's been tryin' ta help Race this whole time?" Crutchie asked quietly. He hadn't said anything during the story, wouldn't even look at Jack, toying with the frayed edge of the blanket instead. 

Jack nodded. "Yeah, and Paul knows who Racer is—'least knows how ta find 'im. Tryin' ta get out meant I'd be dead, Race too, prob'ly."

"Ya couldn't find another way?"

Craning his neck back to look up at the sky, Jack considered that. "Never really thought ta look for one, I guess. But it seemed like tha best at tha time, an' now I'm in too far ta get out, an'..."

"An'?" Crutchie prompted when Jack trailed off.

Now Jack was the one avoiding Crutchie's eye. "I don't like what's happenin' Charlie. I shot a man. I was s'posed ta kill 'im an' I tried. 'Cause—'cause Paul Kelly told me to. An' I soaked ya, and let Biff soak Davey, an' whaddaya boys get? A few extra bucks? That ain't worth it."

They were quiet for a long moment, before Crutchie asked softly "Is it worth keepin' you an' Race alive?"

"Race? 'Course. Me?" Jack shrugged, finally looking at him. "Haven't figured that one out yet."

Crutchie furrowed his brow, opened his mouth to say something, but the circulation bell started ringing, signaling a new day for sellin'. They both looked up, surprised to see how much time had passed. Standing, Jack picked up his hat. 

"I's betta be headin' out 'fore tha other boys see me. I hates ta ask this of ya, but…” Jack twisted his hat in his hands. “Ya can’t tell Davey or Les, or any of the boys about this, okay? Tell ‘em all ‘m sorry, but you can’t tell them anythin’ I just told you. The more people who know, the more people can get hurt. Understand?”

Nodding, Crutchie stood as well, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Jack moved to climb down the fire escape as the sun started rising in the horizon. He could see clouds gathering in the north. He wasn't sure if he and Crutchie were truly square or not, but Jack decided to take a chance with a joke.

“Hey, Crutchie—what’s ya leg say? Gonna rain?”

Crutchie looked at him for a long moment, pulling on his suspenders. Finally, he shook his head, huffing out a laugh. "Naw... Partly cloudy, clear by evenin'."

Setting his foot on the top rung, Jack laughed. "I'll see ya 'round kid, okay? Next time I catch up wit' Racer?"

Reaching down to pick up his hat, Crutchie nodded minutely. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I'll see ya, Jack."

Jack climbed down the fire escape quickly. They wasn't square, not yet, but maybe this was a start. 

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

As he was leaving to meet Katherine later that morning, Jack picked up his fedora on his way out. Pausing, he looked down at it, the ugly brown material.

Maybe it was the talk he had with Crutchie. Maybe it was how the conversation he'd had with Katherine was still whirling around his head. But for the first time in… too long, he _felt_ like Jack Kelly.

And Jack Kelly didn’t want to wear the fedora.

Dropping the hat back on his table, he backtracked to his bed, dropping to a knee and reaching for the box shoved against the wall. Opening it, Jack was met with bits and pieces of his past life.

A case of pencils Medda had given him, the dime novels he’d swiped years ago, doodles on scraps of paper. And, nestled on top, his old Newsies cap.

Picking up the cap, Jack stood slowly, leaving the open box on the floor. Smacking the hat against his thigh, he jammed it firmly on his head and walked out the apartment, standing a little bit taller.

“That’s a new hat,” Katherine commented when he met up with her. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Jack tugged at the brim of his cap, a little self-consciously. 

Nodding, she said, "It looks very you... Murphy?" 

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. “Actually, it’s Kelly.”

She looked at him in surprise. He couldn't blame her _—_ he hadn't expected that to come out of his mouth either. “Kelly?” she asked carefully. 

Well, he was in it this far... “Yeah. Jack Kelly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amongst racketeering and prostitution, the Five Points Gang was also known for their gambling dens. 
> 
> Real swell guys, huh?
> 
> My first update of 2018!! I'm strangely excited about this fact...
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go... sour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: usage of ableist language.
> 
> This beginning bit you might've seen on tumblr--I thought I was going to cut it, but I decided I liked it too much to take out.

“Wait a minute, are you _jealous_?”

“What reason do I got fer bein’ jealous?” Jack deflected.

He was walking her to her parent’s house, and Katherine had mentioned that she noticed he made himself scarce whenever she had dinner with Darcy and wanted to know why. Jack had been vague and unconvincing and, she suspected, a little envious.

Katherine shrugged. “Well, why do you always disappear when I take a meal with Darcy?”

He shook his head. “It ain’t proper, eavesdroppin’ on a fella when he’s tryna romance a lady.”

“You think—you think I’m stepping out with  _Darcy_?” She couldn’t help the snort of laughter that slipped out.  

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets defensively. “Well, ya do take a lot’a meals wit’ ‘im, Miss Pulitzer.”

“ _Katherine_. And he’s been helping me, telling me how to get noticed by my editor. They’re gonna make me a reporter if I have anything to say about it,” she said proudly. She’s not sure where the new wave of optimism came from, but she was chasing it as far as she could. 

“The  _Sun_  could use a writer like you,” he agreed honestly. 

She looked at him in surprise. She didn’t know anyone outside of bored housewives read her articles. “You think?”

“Toldja, I read the papes. Sometimes even the entertainment section. You’s not half-bad, Miss Pulitzer.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and Katherine was thankful it was growing dark out, so he couldn’t see. Slowing, she looked up to see they’d arrived outside her parent’s home. “This is me,” she said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“This is you,” he parroted back. They stood there a moment, and then Jack tipped his hat to her. “G’night, then.”

Katherine turned to open the front door, when she heard from behind her “Kath’rine?”

She turned to him, eyebrow raised in question. He shrugged.

“Mighta been a little jealous.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and continued walking down the street.

Pressing her fingers against her smile, Katherine pushed open the door to the home and was greeted by her parent’s butler.

“Miss Katherine,” he said formally, taking her jacket from her.

“Hello. Mr. Wilson. Are Mother and Father in the study?”

He nodded. “Yes ma’am. You’ve missed dinner, would you like me to get you something from the kitchen?”

Katherine shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll just go on to the study.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

Making her way down the hall, Katherine knocked on the solid oak door before opening it and entering the study.

Her mother looked up from her novel. “Kitty! How are you? We missed you at dinner.”

“Hello, Mother,” she kissed her mother’s cheek. “Sorry about dinner. I got caught up at the office.”

“You work too hard, Katherine,” Kate said, patting Katherine’s hand.

She gave her mother a slightly tight-lipped smile. Kate had been much more supportive than her father when it came to her career, but she still had dreams of her daughters settling down and starting a family. And Katherine couldn’t do that if she was always working.

Turning to her father, who was reading a paper, Katherine greeted him, “Hello, Father.”

“Good evening, Katherine,” he replied, looking up briefly over his glasses at her. “I saw that Bryan Denton had another article in the _Sun_ today.”

“The one about the Platt Amendment?” Katherine asked. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, then, I’m sure we have much to disagree on."

“I look forward to a lively debate with you, my dear. Just let me finish this.”

“Take your time,” Katherine waved a hand, taking a seat across from his desk. “And don’t think I won’t bring up Jack Kelly,” she added, arranging her skirts around her.

Her father didn’t look up from his paper. “Who’s Jack Kelly?”

Katherine shrugged. “The… I don’t know, body man you hired to watch me.”

“Katherine, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joe said, flipping the page.

“Jack Kelly?” Katherine repeated slowly. “Little taller than me, about my age, dark hair, you would've hired him, oh, about a month ago?”

“Jack Kelly… Why do I know that name?” Kate asked, leaning back in her chair a bit.

Her father shook his head. “I have no idea, dear, because I’m sure I don’t know who that is.”

“You’re sure?” Katherine asked, her brow furrowing, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Katherine, I have many employees, but I’m fairly certain there’s not a Jack Kelly on my payroll.”

Her mother snapped her fingers. “Wasn’t Jack Kelly the boy who tried to storm your office, going on about a strike amongst the newsboys?”

Katherine looked up, surprised. “There was a Newsie strike?” She didn’t remember hearing about that.

“A poor attempt at one,” her father said dismissively. “The newsboys weren’t happy with the price raise, but we came to a compromise.”

“What sort of compromise?”

“I gave them jobs, and they sold my paper.”

“How much of a raise in price?” Her father was one for making money, even if it meant fleecing those who couldn’t afford it.

He squinted, thinking. “We charged them ten cents more for fifty papers.”

 _Ten_ cents more? “That seems awfully drastic, doesn’t it?”

“The bottom line is,” her father said, finally looking up from his evening edition. “I met this Jack Kelly once, Katherine, and I’ve certainly not hired him to follow you around.” Peering over his glasses at her, he turned serious. “Is he a problem?

“No, he’s not—you know,” Katherine shook her head. “I think I’m thinking of someone else.”

“Are you sure, darling?” her mother asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” She stood, tried to give her parents a hopefully reassuring smile. “I should be heading home. I have an article to finish.”

After saying her goodbyes to her parents and collecting her jacket from Wilson, Katherine stood outside her parent’s home, puzzling over the new information she’d just learned.

It just didn’t make sense that Jack would make up a story like this, or why he would.

“Why would he lie?” Katherine asked herself. It didn’t make sense, who would make up a story like that, just to… what? Talk to her?

She couldn’t untangle the ball of emotions that was sitting on her chest. Was she angry at this news? Frightened? Upset?

Well, she finally decided, it was no use sitting here asking herself questions she had no answers to. The Duane Street Lodging House was the closest one to the _World_ ’s circulation building. It wasn't too late, and if she took a cab, it wouldn't take too long to make it there. Katherine didn’t really think he was still a newsboy—he was too old, he had to be—but what better place to start?

  

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Well, me and Specs thinks we saw ‘im the otha day,” Mush said, tearing a chunk of bread with his teeth.

“Us too,” Finch said, passing his slingshot between his hands. “Gotta pretty good look at ‘is face. It was Jack.”

Davey nodded. “Les and I’ve been up and down Orange for the last week. We haven’t seen him.”

“I can go back ta the Bowery,” JoJo offered. “I knows lotsa alleyways an’ shortcuts. Maybe I can catch ‘im one day.”

“I’ll go wit’ ya,” Elmer offered.

“I can come in from Cross,” Albert piped up. “I’s usually there sellin’ anyways, an’—”

“Okay!” Race stood up, cutting Albert off, and every eye turned on him. “Look, I knows ya all miss Jack, but I don’t wanna hear that any’a you’s goin’ over ta Five Points no more. Paul Kelly ain’t one ta be messed with, an’ I’ll bust ya heads if I hears about it again.”

“But Racetrack—“ Les said, reaching out to touch his arm.

Race knocked his hand away. “I _mean_ it, Les. No one goes inta Five Points.”

His voice had an edge to it none of them had heard. Les took a step back in surprise, and Davey put a hand on his shoulder with a hard look at Race.

Race lifted his chin defiantly, staring Davey down. The quiet was deafening.

Finally Davey muttered, “C’mon Les. We should get home for supper.”

Les, looking betrayed, nodded and followed Davey out without another word. The living room of the Lodging House was quiet, the low murmur of voices only picking up after Race sat down, lighting his cigar.

After a moment, Crutchie made his way to Race’s side. “Hey, Racer. Can I talk ta ya?”

Race looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he grudgingly nodded, jerking his head to the door.

They stepped out into the alley beside the Lodging House. It was that kinda peaceful time’a night, right between day and night, and there wasn’t many people out. Race leaned against the wall, taking a long drag from his cigar, and Crutchie realized then that Racer’d been smoking a lot more lately.

Squinting at him as he let out a gust of smoke, Race finally asked, “So Jack toldja, did he? ‘Bout where he’s been tha last couple’a years?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie said, shifting his weight on his crutch. “Told me a couple’a nights ago.”

Racer eyed him. “An’?”

“An’ what?”

“Ya hates me now, don’cha?” Race asked, sliding a hand through his hair and clenching his hand.

Crutchie untangled Race’s hand from his hair, looking at him, confused. “Hates ya? Why should I hate ya?”

“Jack was ya best friend, everyone knows that. An’ he’s workin’ fer Five Points now, ‘cause’a me.”

“Racer, I’s not happy that he’s wit’ Five Points, an’ I wish he woulda told us sooner, but Jackie’s a big boy. He knows what he’s gettin’ into.”

Race shook his head, gripping a hand in his hair again. “I don’t think he does, Crutchie,” he said lowly, sticking the cigar in his mouth.

“Hey,” Crutchie gently pulled Race’s hand from his head. “You’s gonna tear all’a ya hair out if ya keep doin’ that. An’ he’s gonna be fine, Racer.”

Shaking his head again, Race started to say something, but before he could, two guys approached them outta nowhere, studying Race and Crutchie.

“You Higgins?” the taller one asked.

Straightening his shoulders, Race took the cigar out of his mouth. “Maybe. Who’s askin’?”

The guy laughed humorlessly, slowly approaching Race, setting a hand on his shoulder and sucker-punching him in the gut. Locking an arm around Race’s neck, he said lowly, “We is. Now, are ya Higgins, or are ya gonna point ‘im out fer us?”

Wheezing slightly, Race managed to choke out. “Alrigh’, alrigh’. ‘M Higgins. Whaddaya want?”

Straightening, the guy loosened his grip on Race’s neck. “That’s betta. What we want is fer you to take a little walk wit’ us. Alright, Higgins?”

“Go ta hell—” Race’s knees buckled as the guy socked him in the stomach again.

Crutchie moved forward, trying to pry Race out from under the guy’s arm. “Hey! Let ‘im go!”

“This don’t concern ya, gimp. Get outta here,” the other guy, who’d been quiet up until now, said shoving Crutchie backwards.

Landing hard on his rear, Crutchie sat there, dazed, a moment, before coming to his wits and gripping the end of his crutch, using it to take a swing at the guy holdin' Racer. He managed to catch a knee, causing him to curse and stumble. Crutchie aimed for the other leg, but before he could get another shot in, something hit him in the back of his head, and he slumped over, passed out.

He came to when he felt someone shaking his arm. Shaking his head, Crutchie sat up slowly, feeling a little dizzy. There was a girl, maybe a little older than him, ‘bout Jack and Davey’s age, kneeling beside him.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked. “I was walking by, and I saw you on the ground—”

Crutchie shook his head, immediately regretting it when the scenery started spinning again. “I’m fine. Jus’a bump,” he winced, probing the back of his head. What was he doin’ out here again? He wanted ta talk ta Race, and—

“Race,” he remembered, trying to stand. They got Race, he had to help him, get the boys… who was s’posed t’be in charge now? He didn’t know where to find Jack, and now Racer was gone…

“Hey, hey, I don’t think a race is what you need to be worrying about,” the girl said, helping him up as best she could.

Crutchie shook his head, leaning on his crutch. “No, Race is m’buddy. These two guys, they got ‘im, I gotta help ‘im—”

She shook her head quickly and put a placating hand on his arm. “Okay, it’s going to be okay. What—what happened? Can you tell me your name?”

“Crutch—Charlie. Charlie Morris. Who’re you? You ain’t from ‘round here.” She was too dressed too good to be from around the Duane Street, he finally noticed.

“My name’s Katherine Pulitzer,” she said. “And I’m here looking for someone named Jack Kelly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: The No. 9 Duane Street Newsboy Lodging House was the Lodging House for the Manhattan Newsies in the 1899 Strike. Whether or not it would've been the "closest" Lodging House to the _World_ and that it would've been the logical answer to which Newsies started the strike, I don't know. 
> 
> Cross and Orange were two of the streets that met up to make Five Points. Little Water was mentioned earlier, and the last one is Anthony.
> 
> The Platt Amendment was passed March 2, 1901. It detailed 7 conditions for which the US would withdraw their army from Cuba. (Disney notes on this: 1) I don't know if there was actually an article in the Sun about this, but it was--I assume--a big deal, so likely someone covered it, 2) Bryan Denton was a war correspondent in the movie, so it made sense to me that he be the one to cover it--also I really liked our man Denton--and 3) this does make the timeline I set up a little wonky, not being exactly 2 years, but I hope it can be forgiven)
> 
> I'm thinking we're roughly at the halfway point here, kiddos. Still with me?? Haven't scared you off yet with inconsistent posting dates or uncertainty about the story??
> 
> Bless you.
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her head was filled with him, and she hated it.
> 
> She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You know Jack?”

“He’s my—well, he’s—I don’t really know what he is to me, but I know him.” Katherine shook her head. She didn’t really want to dwell on it. “How do you know Jack?”

“He’s my… friend,” the younger boy said hesitantly. “Used ta live here,” he added, jerking his head towards the Lodging House, wincing slightly, bringing a hand to his head.

Katherine’s eyes widened. “Did he live here two years ago?”

“Yeah. We both did.”

“Do you know anything about a Newsie strike?”

“Sure. We’s tried ta strike when tha pape price went up. We was ready ta show that no-good, lousy, scummy Pulitzer we—” his eyes went wide. “Not that— _you’s_ scummy, Miss—”

“Katherine. Not Miss Pulitzer, _please_. Besides,”she waved a hand. “I’ve heard far worse about my father, and that was a lousy thing for him to do. So what happened to Jack?”

Charlie bit his lip, a crease appearing between his brows. “I’s… I’s not s’posed ta talk about it, Miss Kath’rine. Jack made me promise.”

“Well, what about your friend—Race, you said? What happened?”

He looked concerned, scared almost, rubbing his fingers over the handle of his crutch and worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Charlie.” Katherine put a hand on his shoulder carefully and hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. “Are Race and Jack in trouble?”

He nodded slowly.

“I might be able to help.” Katherine wasn’t sure how, but her father was Joseph Pulitzer, he had contacts everywhere. Surely they’d be able to get Jack and—Race?—out of whatever scrape they were in. “But I need you to tell me what kind of trouble they’re in.”

Huffing out a long breath that ruffled the fringe poking out from under his cap, Charlie nodded slowly. “Not here. Someone’ll hear us, an’ tha boys can’t know.”

She nodded. “Okay. Where?”

He pursed his lips. “I knows a place. An’ there is someone who needs ta know what happened ta Jack.”

“Lead the way.”

Katherine offered to get a cab for the two of them—surely the crutch was uncomfortable—but Charlie just chook his head, reassuring her that the place was only a couple of streets over.

They entered a slightly shabby tenement building. Katherine couldn’t help but notice as they climbed the stairs that it was much nicer than the one Jack had taken her to when he wrapped her hand. Stopping at a door on the third floor, Charlie knocked on the wood.

A girl with long brown hair opened the door. “Charlie! What are you doing here?” Her eyes flicked to Katherine uncertainly.

“Hey, Sarah. Is Davey here? I’s—we’s—gotta talk ta ‘im.” A look passed between them and she nodded, stepping back and allowing them to enter.

“Davey?”

A tall lanky boy appeared in a doorway. “Crutchie! What—Whaddaya doin’ here? And… who’s your friend?”

“Davey, can we talks ta ya? ‘S’bout tonight.”

Davey gave them a long look before nodding. “Yeah. Out here,” he waved a hand in the room.

Katherine nodded at Sarah as they passed, going through a small bedroom, where a young boy was sleeping on the bed.

Pushing up the sash of the window, Davey stepped out onto the fire escape, Charlie following him easily, passing his crutch to the other boy. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Katherine sat on the windowsill, swinging her legs through the open space.

Dropping her skirts, she stood, facing the two boys. “Crutchie?” she raised an eyebrow at Charlie.

He waved a hand, taking back his crutch from Davey. “‘S’a nickname.”

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Davey interrupted. “Who are you? And Crutchie, what does she have ta do with tonight?”

“She knows Jack.”

“ _She_ is Katherine Pulitzer,” Katherine added.

Davey’s eyebrows shot up. “As in…?”

She nodded. “Joseph Pulitzer is my father, yes.”

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, Crutchie, what’s goin’ on? And when did you become friends with Pulitzer’s daughter?”

“Tonight.” Charlie-slash-Crutchie shifted his weight on his crutch and sighed. “I gots ta tell ya somethin’ that no one else can know. I ain’t even s’posed ta be tellin’ ya, but…”

“But?” Davey prompted.

Charlie brushed his nose. “I’s—I’s scared. I thinks there’s more than what he told me, and now Jack and Racer’s both in trouble.”

“You talked ta Jack?” Davey looked shocked, and Katherine added his reaction to the list of questions that kept growing in her head. What were these boys to Jack? Why hadn’t he spoken to them—?

“Big family of brothers…” she muttered. She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until she looked up and saw both Davey and Charlie looking at her, confused looks on their faces.

“I’m sorry, what?” Davey asked with a slightly forced politeness.

Katherine shook her head. “I was talking to Jack about a week ago, and he told me he had brothers he didn’t talk to anymore. That’s you, isn’t it? And all the boys at the Lodging House?”

A brief smile flickered across Charlie’s face. “Yeah, that’s prob’ly us. Jack use’ta say we was all a family.”

“‘Til he left,” Davey muttered, kicking at the metal of the fire escape with his foot.

“That’s what ‘m tryin’ ta tell ya, Davey! Jack told me why he left. Afta we tried strikin’ against the _World_ , Race started playin’ poker at some’a Paul Kelly’s gamblin’ dens—”

“Paul Kelly?” Katherine interrupted. “As in Five Points Paul Kelly?”

Charlie shrugged. “‘S’only Paul Kelly I knows of. Anyways, he was playin’ ‘gainst one’a tha higher-ups in Kelly’s gang, made a bad bet, an’ lost. They tolds ‘im he’d hafta pay ‘em back no matta what.”

“What does that mean?” Davey asked, crossing his arms.

Shrugging, Charlie rubbed absently at the back of his head. “Don’t know, really. Jackie seemed ta think it was pretty bad, though. So’s he went ta Paul Kelly an’ took Racer’s place.”

“And that day he beat up on us?” Katherine’s eyes widened at Davey’s question. She always assumed Jack could fight— _had_ been in fights, she thought, remembering his black eye—but beating the boys he called brothers?

“Part’a his cover. ‘Least that’s what he told me.”

“Sullivan?”

“He told me once that was his ma’s name. ‘Fore she married his pops.”

Davey nodded, looking—not _happy_ , but somewhat content with the story.

“Where do I come in?” Katherine asked. Because maybe Davey was getting answers, but she wasn't.

Charlie shook his head. “Hones’ly, Miss Kath’rine, I dunno. He didn’t mention ya when we talked.”

That… shouldn’t have hurt like it did. Katherine tried to remember that he hadn’t seen them in almost two years, he was just trying to ease their worries not tell them about some girl he was… what? _She_ didn’t even know what they were. Did he?

"What about Racetrack?" Davey asked Charlie. 

"That's what happened t'night," he answered. "Afta he..."

"Yelled?"

"...yeah, yelled, we went out an' we was talkin' 'bout what Jack told me, an' these two guys showed up and took 'im. An' I didn't get too good a look at 'em, but I think one'a them was the guy we saw 'im with that day, the one wit' the funny name, I don't remember."

"And somehow Race's wrapped up in it now," Davey concluded. "But how? Why?"

Katherine rubbed her forehead. She'd hoped to get more answers by visiting the Lodging House, but all she was getting was more questions. 

“Are Jack and Race gonna be okay?” a small voice asked by her elbow. The three of them turned to the open window, where the boy who had been asleep earlier was sticking his head out, looking at them.

“Les!” Davey exclaimed, half-scolding. “You should be asleep—you have school in the morning.”

Les pulled himself out the window. “Well ya shouldn’t’ve been talkin’ right outside the window then.” He looked up at Katherine, suddenly acknowledging that there was someone new. “Hi!” he chirped. “I’m Les.”

“I’m Katherine,” she said, smiling slightly at the boy in his rumpled, too-big pajamas.

“How d’ya know Jack?”

Katherine bit her lip. “He’s… a friend.”

The young boy’s eyes were wide and earnest. “Will they? Be okay, I mean?”

“Sure they will,” Davey reassured him, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Jack and Racer are tough. They know how ta take care of themselves.”

“But they’re in with Paul Kelly,” Les insisted, his eyes wide. “They’s some tough guys, even tougher than Brooklyn. And they got guns. What if Jack and Racer aren’t okay?”

Charlie reached over to tousle his hair. “Aw, don’t worry too much about them. But we’s gonna try an’ help ‘em, ‘cause even though they’s tough, Jack and Race don’t always use their heads.”

“How’re we going to help?”

Hesitantly, Charlie’s eyes flickered to her, followed by Davey and Les’s. It took her a moment before she realized they were waiting for _her_ to have an answer.

Katherine raked a hand through her hair, huffing out a long breath. “I don’t know, yet, how we can help.” All three boys deflated, and she rushed to reassure them. “I’m sure we can come up with something, but… not tonight.”

She had too many thoughts and emotions whirling around in her head; she needed time to try and work them all out before she could focus on this.

Time to figure out if it was worth it to help Jack at all.

“Tomorrow,” Katherine finally said. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. After school, after you’re done selling, after work, we’ll think of something to help Jack and Race.”

They didn’t look happy about the thought of waiting, but nodded, and she sighed. “Good. I’ll stop by the Lodging House then?” They nodded again.

“I’ll walk ya home, Miss Kath’rine,” Charlie offered, straightening and shifting his crutch.

“Oh, no, Charlie. It’ll be a long walk there, and getting back—”

“Then I’ll walk wit’ ya ‘til ya can catch a cab. It ain’t safe this time’a night.” His voice brokered no argument, and Katherine nodded, allowing Les to climb through the window first, before following him.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The next day, she went about her business with half the conviction she usually did. Katherine normally took pride in her ability to put her all into her work, even if she didn’t always enjoy being on entertainment, but she just couldn’t bring herself to raise her level of enthusiasm.

After Katherine had made it home last night, she’d had a restless night’s sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. Charlie and Davey got their answers, but what about her? Why had he lied? For a _month_? And what did it have to do with Paul Kelly?

(because, somehow, she knew it had to do with Five Points, but she didn’t know _how_ )

Finally, she left work, telling her editor she had an interview with a source, making her way home quickly.

Her head was filled with him, and she _hated_ it. Katherine hated that she’d allowed herself to be duped by a man who had lied to her for no discernible reason, hated that he even lied in the first place, hated that she didn’t know why he lied.

Hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Sighing, Katherine pushed open the door to her apartment, freezing in the doorway when she saw who was lying, half-collapsed, on her couch.

“How the _hell_ did you get in my apartment?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (oooh, I wonder who in the world could be on her couch.... ;) )
> 
> No historical notes for this one.
> 
> So Race being kidnapped was actually proving to be a problem for me, story-wise (which just goes to show you, kiddos, don't lose your outline and then just make something up), so I hope you enjoyed Kath meeting Crutchie and Davey and Les while I figure out how to write myself out of this scrape :D
> 
> I've had it in my head for a while where Jack came up with his pseudonym, but this is the first it's been able to come up ~~sort of~~ organically. Francis is his middle name (Jack Francis Kelly, I mean)
> 
> Next chapter, Katherine starts getting her answers!
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katherine gets her answers, and a plan is made.

Jack Kelly was _not_ havin’ a banner night.

He’d gone back to his apartment and found Biff and Johnny waiting for him, a sight he was coming to both expect and hate. He was expectin’ to be taken back to Paul’s office—his week was up, he didn’t have answers.

_“Sully.”_

_“You two are becomin’ a real unpleasant habit, ya know? I’s gettin’ sick’a seein’ ya two hangin’ ‘round my place.”_

_“Paul wants ta see ya.”_

He _hadn’t_ expected ta see Race, lookin’ bruised and battered, one eye swollen completely shut, scrapes on his hands, a busted lip, and what looked like faint finger-shaped bruises around his neck. And that had just been what Jack could see, once he got past the red haze around the edges of his vision.

The soakin’ he got after, the threats from Paul and Biff and Johnny, the cramped little closet they were shoved into, he expected that.

_“Why now, Jackie? Why’s they decided ta get me now? Afta almost two years?”_

_Jack didn’t want to answer. He screwed up one too many times, didn’t play by Paul’s rules, and Race really was payin’ this time._

_“I screwed up, Race.”_

The dislocated shoulder was a nice touch, he thought sarcastically.

_Bending Jack’s elbow slightly, Race gripped his elbow in one hand and his wrist in the other. “Only done this once, y’know.”_

_“I know,” Jack said through gritted teeth._

_“On three?”_

_Jack nodded._

_“Okay, one… two…” Race jerked the arm and Jack heard a loud pop! as his shoulder put itself back in place._

_Letting out a string of curses that woulda made a long shore worker blush, Jack dropped his head back on the wall with a dull thud as stars danced across his vision. “Dammit, Racer. Ya said on three.”_

But what hurt even worse than his shoulder was gettin’ out without Racer.

_“I don’t wanna leaves ya.”_

_Race shook his head. “Jackie I’s no good ta ya like this. I can barely walk, they pummeled m’chest and ribs so bad, it hurts ta breath, an’ I only gots one good eye.”_

_“Yeah, an’ s’only gonna get worse if ya let me go wit’out ya,” Jack insisted._

_“Jack. Lemme take the hits fer once. Ya can’t keeps savin’ my hide. Ya’s done enough.”_

He hadn’t given much thought to headin’ towards Katherine’s place as soon as he was free. Jack figured his apartment was off-limits, the Lodging House wasn’t safe ‘til he knew what Biff and Johnny knew, and right now, he knew they didn’t know where Katherine lived.

And now Katherine was yellin’ at him. Jack sighed.

Just wasn’t his day.

Groaning, Jack sat up on her couch, rubbing his eyes with the hand that wasn’t tucked into his makeshift sling.

“Fire escape. Picked th’ lock,” he said shortly.

Katherine let the door slam behind her. “Just because you know _how_ to get in a place, doesn’t mean you have the right to do it!” She took a long look at him. “What happened to you?”

“Got in a fight.”

She crossed her arms. “With Paul Kelly?”

“I dunno what’cha talk—“

“Don’t play stupid, Jack, it only insults both of us,” Katherine seethed, dropping her purse and coat in a pile on the floor. “I ran into some old friends of yours—Davey and Crutchie?”

“How’d ya—?”

She cut him off. “I know you don’t work for my father— _anymore_. He said you were a Newsie once, but he hadn’t seen you since, so I went by the Lodging House to see if anyone knew who you really were.”

“What d’ya care who I am?” Jack demanded.

Katherine crossed her arms, and said sarcastically, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been following me around for almost a month, slept outside my door one night _that I know of_ , can apparently pick locks, and knows details about me, like where I live and how I get to work. I think I have a right—”

“I’m Jack Kelly,” he interrupted through clenched teeth. She didn’t have no “right” ta anything about his life, but his head was pounding, and her voice was goin’ all shrill. “I was a Newsie for ‘bout ten years, an’ the last two, I’s been workin’ fer Paul Kelly over at Five Points so’s he wouldn’t kill one’a m’boys. There. That’s ev’rythin’. Ya happy now?”

“No, I’m not _happy_! Where do I come in? Why did you lie about working for Father?” Her voice was still shrill, and gettin’ louder too.

“I didn’t lie, Kath’rine. You’s assumed that I was workin’ fer ya father, and I just—”

“Didn’t correct me? Like that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Katherine demanded.

“All I needed was information from ya!” he exclaimed, standing up to face her. “That’s it. See if ya knew if ya dad was really lookin’ inta Paul Kelly.”

“Why would you think _I_ knew anything?” she asked incredulously.

“ _I_ don’t think nothin’ when it comes ta Paul’s jobs! I just does what he tells me—”

“So you roll over and let him walk all over you?” she stepped up to him, jabbing a finger in his chest.

“Aw, if you was a boy, you’d be tryna talk wit’ a fist in ya mouth,” Jack said, balling his hand into a fist at his side. She didn’t have any idea what he’d been through, had no right to act like she knew anythin’ ‘bout him.

“And if I were a boy, you’d be looking at me with one _swollen eye_!” Katherine shook her own fist at him, and he grabbed her wrist, tucking her fist under his chin.

“Go on then,” he taunted. “Give it ya best shot—can’t hurt me more’n I’ve already been hurt.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and her fingers flex against his skin.

“Go on!” Jack goaded. “Hit me!”

They stand toe-to-toe for a long moment, each staring the other down, waiting for the other to make a move.

Katherine moved first, a quick, jerky movement. But instead of hitting him, like he expected, she kissed him.

He grunted softly as the movement jostled his shoulder, but that was the last thing he registered before his mind went blank and the only thing in the world was her.

She pulled away too soon, and he took an instinctive step towards her.

“No,” Katherine said softly, stopping him with a hand to his chest.

Jack let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I really didn’t mean ta hurt’cha,” he said, just as softly. “I was jus’ tryin’ ta help m’boys. I didn’t—I never planned on you.”

“I know.” There was something in her eyes he couldn’t decipher, and she curled her hand a bit before dropping it. Moving to pick up her discarded purse and coat, Katherine said, “Come on.”

“Where’s we goin’?” His head was still spinning, and at this point he wasn’t sure if it was the fatigue or the kiss.

“We’re going to get you your answers. Time to officially meet my father, Jack Kelly.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

 

They were quiet as they made their way quickly through the streets to her parent’s rented home, both wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Katherine couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. She still wasn’t sure why she did it. There’d been so many emotions swirling around in her for the last few days, anger and confusion and worry, all on top of the mess of feelings she hadn’t sorted out over how she felt about Jack.

Then there was the relief at seeing him again that she tried to force down, but kept bubbling and gushing forward until the only thing that made sense was to kiss him.

It probably wasn’t the right move, probably something they needed to talk about, but she just… couldn’t right now.

“Kath’rine?” She looked at Jack, who pointed up. “This’s ya parents’ house, right?”

Startled, Katherine was surprised to see they had arrived at the Sloane Mansion. She nodded, leading him up the front walk to the front door, knocking on the solid wood. A moment later, Mr. Wilson opened the door.

Katherine was sure they made quite the sight, her surely with dark circles under her eyes and frizzy hair, Jack with his arm in a sling, leaning heavily on one side.

Mr. Wilson, unflappable as ever, didn’t even blink as he ushered them inside. “Good afternoon, Miss Katherine.”

“Hello, Mr. Wilson. Is Father here? I need to speak with him.”

“In the study, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Katherine led Jack down the hallway, an odd sense of déjà vu washing over her as they approached the door to the study.

Her father was sitting at his desk, speaking with a man she’d never met before—a shorter, dark-haired man with a cigar in his hand.

Jack froze next to her, and Katherine turned to him in question.

“ _Frankie_?” he said, gaping at the other man.

They both turned to look at Jack and Katherine, and the shorter man dropped his head back with a groan.

“Aw _shit_ ,” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

“I thought ya only spokes Italian!” Jack looked shocked, his eyes wide.

Her father took his glasses off. “Max, how do you know this young man?”

Turning back to Pulitzer, he demanded, “He’s one of Paul Kelly’s guys, Joe! Our cover’s blown!”

“Cover? So you has been lookin’ inta Paul?”

“I don’t see how that’s your concern, boy.” Joseph leaned in his chair to look at Katherine. “Who is this, dear?”

“Father, this is Jack Kelly—”

“The boy you thought I hired.”

She nodded. “—Yes. He’s in some trouble with the Five Points gang, and—”

“Trouble?” Max laughed humorlessly. “He’s one of the higher-ups, he’s not in any trouble with Paul. And I don’t know what lies he’s been tellin’ you, but Jack Kelly isn’t his name.”

Jack’s good hand balled into a fist. “What ‘bout you, Frankie? You’s been there longer’n I have, how do we know you ain’t lyin’?”

“I can personally vouch for Max,” her father said sternly. “He’s one of my best reporters, and he’s been undercover with Five Points for almost four years. Who can vouch for _you_ , boy?”

“I can. I can vouch for him,” Katherine spoke up. The three men turned to her, the two older ones finally fully acknowledging that she was in the room. Jack had a grateful look in his eyes.

With the attention now on her, Katherine took a deep breath. “His name really is Jack Kelly, and we need your help. Please, Father, if you’d just listen to me, I think we can come up with a way to help him.”

Her father studied her for a long time. She was taken back to her childhood, when he’d give her and her siblings the same look when he was trying to find out who had spilled jam on his typewriter keys or hidden his glasses.

Katherine lifted her chin. She wasn’t seven anymore. She wouldn’t fidget under her father’s gaze.

Finally, he said, “I’ll speak with _you_ , Katherine. Mr. Kelly can step out into the hallway.”

She turned to Jack, who had a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“Do you trust me?” she asked softly. Katherine would do everything in her power to make sure he and his boys at the Lodging House stayed safe, but that didn’t matter if he didn’t believe she could.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I trusts ya.” Casting a look around the room, Jack left the office, closing the door softly behind him.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

That Wilson guy was givin’ Jack the creeps.

Jack didn’t know what it was he did in the house, but he was pretty sure standin’ in one spot and not blinking wasn’t what he got paid for.

Sliding down to sit on the floor, Jack tilted his head back against the wall. Katherine, Pulitzer, and Frankie-slash-Max had been in the room for a long time. If he weren’t so tired, he’d feel more antsy.

Toying with the edge of the sling, he wondered how Race was doin’. Biff and Johnny probably would only check on him if they felt like beatin’ up on him, so there was no tellin’ if they knew he was gone or not.

He still felt sick about leaving Racer behind, but he was sure Katherine would come up with somethin’. He’d given her no reason to trust him, but Jack trusted her—literally—with his life.

Jack rubbed at his bottom lip with a knuckle, thinking about the kiss. Girls like her don't go fer guys like him, he knew they didn't, but that hadn't stopped him from fallin' for her. Hadn't stopped her from kissing him. She didn’t seem to regret it, which was good, he guessed. But she also didn’t want to talk about it.

He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. 

Maybe if they had better timing...

The door opened then, interrupting his thoughts, and Jack scrambled to his feet, catching the wall when he swayed.

Katherine came out first, her face tight, but she gave him a reassuring nod. Frankie/Max stepped out behind her, and closed the door.

“Well?” Jack asked. He’d been looking to Katherine for answers, but it was Max who answered.

“We tell Kelly that he leaves you, Racetrack, and the rest of the Newsies alone, lets you out of your employment with him, or we run an article detailing everything he’s done, as told by an inside source.”

“We will?”

Max shrugged, rolling his cigar between his hands. _Just like Race_ , Jack thought with a pang. “If he doesn’t agree.”

“An’ if he thinks we’s bluffin’?” Jack crossed his arms as best he could with the sling.

“We run it.” Max stuck the cigar in his pocket before giving Jack a long look. “Thing is, Kelly, once we get Race, you both will have to get out of town.”

Jack immediately shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. Kelly’s got eyes ev’rywheres, he’ll find tha boys, an’ I won’t be here ta protect ‘em.”

“It’ll be even worse if you’re still here,” Max insisted. “The article won’t be enough to shut Kelly down, but he might back off for a while, unless you and Racetrack are still here.”

Jack looked helplessly at Katherine, who sighed. “It’s not the best idea. I wish we could shut them down once and for all, but we just don’t have enough, and with Tammany helping them out…” she looked at him, apologetic.

“It’s what we’s got.” He didn’t like the idea, not a bit. He didn’t like the idea of leavin’ the boys, but if him stayin’ made it worse…

He thought about what she'd said earlier, about him rolling over and lettin' Paul walk all over him. Maybe she was right. It'd been Paul's game for too long, and this was their chance to change the rules.

“Good, we’re all on the same page,” Max said, turning for the door. “We meet at seven. Have that article done, Katherine. I’m going to get in touch with someone at the paper, they’ll be ready to print tonight.”

Shaking his head, Jack stopped him. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ ‘til I talks ta the boys.” Max turned to give him a look. “They’s been in the dark too long,” Jack explained. “If I’m gonna put a target on their backs, I’s gonna warn ‘em first.”

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but Katherine nodded, putting a hand lightly on his arm. “I’m supposed to see Crutchie and Davey today. We’ll go there now, and we’ll go see Paul tonight, okay?”

Jack nodded, his throat tight.

It wasn't Paul's game anymore. Jack was makin' the rules now.

He was going to see his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! There were parts that just didn't want to write, and then I suddenly got a burst of motivation today and... this happened. 
> 
> Yes, Max is absolutely, 1000% based on Max Casella, who portrayed Racetrack in the 1992 movie. 
> 
> Jack sees his boys next chapter!
> 
> Nearing the end, folks. Three-ish chapters left, I think? You ready??
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack sees the boys and Katherine writes an article.
> 
> Feelings are discussed.

They stood awkwardly outside the Lodging House. Jack swallowed thickly. He hadn’t seen this place up close in the daylight in two years. It looked exactly the same, despite so much having changed.

Jack didn’t know how that made him feel.

“Are you okay?” Katherine asked softly. She hadn’t said much on the walk over, and he jumped a bit at her voice.

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… been a while.”

After another moment, Jack slowly pushed open the door, and, for a moment, everything looked normal. The boys were in the front room, counting the papes they hadn’t sold that day, playing cards in the corner, raiding the pantry in the kitchen.

It felt like two years ago, like he, too, had just got off a day of sellin’, and he was about to razz Davey and Les about their homework, or join Crutchie on the rooftop, or challenge Race to a game of cards.

But Race wasn’t here. It wasn’t normal.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t unstick the words from his throat.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“Guys!” Les exclaimed, catching the attention of all the boys, who all turned to the front door, freezing when they saw Jack.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Uh. Hey, fellas.”

They stared widely at him, still quiet. Jack hadn’t heard ‘em this quiet since the headline that started this whole mess.

He started to say something else when Albert, who was closest to him, stretched out a finger and jabbed Jack in the shoulder.

The one he’d dislocated.

“Jeez, Al! I’s gotta sling here, don’cha think that might mean I’s hurt?” Jack demanded, recoiling a bit.

“You’s real,” Albert said, a little disbelieving.

“‘Course ‘m real.”

It was like a spell was broken, and the boys rushed towards Jack, shouting over one another, clapping him on the back, and shaking his hand. It was a mess of tangled limbs, excited shouts, and Jack felt his eyes start to sting, but he told himself that it was because of his shoulder that kept getting jostled, and he hadn’t slept, so he was a little high-strung.

“Where’s ya been, Jack?” Romeo asked, shaking him.

“Yeah, we thoughts ya left us fer good!” Tommy Boy added, clapping Jack on the back, causing him to wince.

“What’cha doin’ back?” Elmer asked, wide eyed. “Ya know what happened ta Race?”

Suddenly, the boys fell silent again, and Jack turned to see Katherine had entered behind him.

There were a handful of girls in the Lodging House, but they didn’t see too much of girls lookin’ like Katherine in their living room. The boys looked like they’d all been hit between the eyes.

“Act’ally, that’s why we’s here. Boys, this is Kath’rine. Kath’rine, these are the boys.”

Katherine gave a little wave, which only Romeo returned, a little too enthusiastically in Jack’s opinion.

Crutchie was standing at the edge of the group, and Jack moved through the crowd of boys to get to him. “Hey, ya alright kid?” Katherine had told him how she found Crutchie on the ground when she’d come to find Jack.

Nodding, he shifted on his crutch. “‘M alright, Jack.”

He turned to ask Davey and Les the same thing, but was interrupted by Mush. 

“Jack?” Mush asked, and Jack turned to look at the boys. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looked at each boy, a mixture of confusion and slight hurt on their faces. Sighing, Jack scrubbed a hand down his face. He never expected to be here, tellin' the story to the boys, but now he was here, and they needed to know.

“Okay, so’s it’s a long story, but here it is.”

He tried to keep it short, but it felt like he'd talked forever as he finished recounting the last couple of years for them, how he started working for Paul Kelly, and shooting Monk Eastman—

“That was _you_?” Elmer asked, only to be met with a round of shushes.

—and how he’d screwed up on a job, so that’s why they had Race.

How they had to get out of town that night.

“So’s I’s tellin’ ya ‘cause tonight Racer an’ I hafta get outta town, an’ that might mean the guys I been workin’ with’ll come afta ya. I couldn’t leave ya boys without warnin’ ya,” he finished, his voice a little hoarse.

It was too quiet in the living room, and it made Jack a little uncomfortable.

“Wow, Jack…” Specs breathed out.

“Yeah,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “So now ya knows.”

Elmer twisted his hat in his hands. “What kinda guys we talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Do they look anythin’ like these guys?” Finch asked, snapping his slingshot, looking out the window. Jack looked out the window, too, and cursed.

“Biff and Johnny,” he said. “They can’t know we’s here."

“Kitchen,” JoJo said, pushing Jack and Katherine towards the kitchen. The door to the kitchen closed just as the front door of the Lodging House opened.

Jack pressed his ear to the door, listening.

It was quiet for a moment, then he heard Biff say, “We’s lookin’ fer Jack Kelly.”

“I thought you told them your name was Francis,” Katherine whispered to him.

Jack shook his head. “Ain’t surprised Paul knows. He prob’ly knew the whole time.”

“Jack Kelly?” Albert asked innocently. “Don’t knows that name.”

“Didn’t he live here a few years back?” Specs said thoughtfully.

“Nah, you’s thinkin’a someone else there, Specs,” Elmer said. “I think Jack Kelly’s the restaurant.”

JoJo piped up. “That’s Jacobi’s Deli, Elmer. You ain’t even close.”

The rest of the boys started talking over one another, and Jack hid a smile. He’d left the boys for almost two years, ignored them, and they were still out there, defending him.

His eyes prickled again, and Jack cursed his lack of sleep again.

Finally Johnny cut them all off, raising his voice. “Alright! If any’a ya sees this Jack Kelly, tell him his little stunt ain’t paid off, an’ if we don’t sees ‘im tonight, things are gonna get even worse.”

The door closed and JoJo opened the door to the kitchen. They moved back out into the living room, where the boys were staring at Jack again.

“So, those were the guys.” Jack said, probably unnecessarily.

They were quiet for a moment before Albert spoke up. “We can take ‘em.”

Jack huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be too sure. Biff and Johnny look like dandies, but they’s some’a Paul’s best fighters.”

“Yeah, but there’s only two’a them, an’ what? Fifty’a us?” Blink said, shrugging. “We ain’t scared’a them, right boys?”

A round of “no way”s chorused through the group, and Jack felt himself grin.

“Yeah, an’ we wanna be there t’night,” Albert added. “We wanna help get Racer out.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, less enthusiastic than before, but with no less conviction. Jack felt his throat tighten and something loosen in his chest.

 _Christ Almighty_ , he’d missed his boys.

“Thank ya fellas. I—it means a lot,” he cleared his throat. “That ya want ta help, but we’s’ll be fine. We’s gotta plan.”

“A good one?” Davey asked, finally speaking.

Jack shrugged. “It’s… a plan.”

Davey didn’t look convinced. Jack wasn’t either, if he was honest, but he couldn’t let that show. “We’ll be fine, fellas. I just wanted ta come by, let’cha know what was happenin’ an’… Say goodbye. Since I didn’t last time.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

After the Lodging House, and Jack had asked Crutchie to meet them a couple of blocks from Paul Kelly’s athletic club, he and Katherine had gone back to her apartment so she could write the article and Jack could get an hour or so of sleep.

She wasn’t sure how Jack could sleep with her mere feet away, the typewriter keys clacking loudly, but if his story was anything to go by, the last night hadn’t been exactly restful.

Katherine was glad for the article as a distraction, stringing Max’s notes into coherency filled her head and left little room to think about kissing Jack earlier—only a few hours ago, she shook her head in disbelief—and the visit to the Lodging House.

But there was still a niggling little voice in the back of her head, reminding her of everything she’d witnessed.

She hadn’t said much at the newsboy Lodging House, preferring to observe. Katherine couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different about Jack when they were there.

He'd looked less guarded, more open, and she realized the hard exterior he’d had when they first met had been slowly dropping over the last month and this was just the first she was noticing it.

Katherine didn’t want to look too deep into that right now—too close to the other thing she was avoiding thinking about—so she turned her thoughts back to the article and Max Delpino.

Turned out, Max wasn’t so much a reporter for her father as he was someone who owed him a favor. He’d been a runner at the _World_ for a couple of years before he was caught stealing. Her father had agreed to not have him arrested if Max did a job for him.

(Why her father felt like he needed to lie in front of Jack, Katherine wasn’t entirely sure)

Max hadn’t exactly been thrilled that the last four years of his life was ending like this, without the resolute fall of Paul Kelly, but he wasn’t entirely disappointed either. He mentioned a brother in passing, one who lived out West, so Katherine figured he’d be leaving with Jack and Racetrack tonight.

She’d convinced her father to let her write the article, and allow it to be run in both the _Sun_ and the _World_ , crediting both her and Max—just because the man wasn’t a journalist didn’t mean he shouldn’t be recognized.

Her father had—eventually—agreed.

On one small condition.

She would go work for him, at the _World_.

It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t preferable, but…

“It’s a compromise we can all live with,” Katherine grumbled, lowering her voice to imitate her father.

“What is?”

She looked up, startled, to see Jack leaning heavily against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, his eyes hooded with sleep, his hair and clothes rumpled.

“You didn’t sleep long,” she deflected, more accusingly than she meant.

He shrugged. “I can sleep on the train. What compr’mise?”

Katherine waved her hand. “A deal my father and I made.”

“If memory serves, ol’ Joe don’t make real fair deals,” he commented, dropping into the chair across from hers.

“Well, it’s helping us get you out of town tonight, so it feels more than fair. Speaking of,” she looked up at the clock. “We should be leaving if we’re going to meet Max.” Typing the last sentence, she stood, pulling the paper from her typewriter.

Passing Jack to enter the living room, Katherine heard the chair scrape against the floor as he hastily stood as well.

“Hey, no, wait.” Katherine turned to look at him, and he sighed loudly. “I—what is this? You an’ me? Am I kiddin’ myself, or…” he trailed off, raking a hand through his hair, making it looked more mussed than before. “I mean, ya kissed me, an’ we still ain’t talked ‘bout it, an’ I’s leavin’ tonight…”

 _Which is precisely why I didn’t want to talk about it,_ Katherine thought, sighing as well.

“I don’t know what this is, what we have, but you’re not kidding yourself,” she said honestly, and it was like something broke inside her and all the feelings she been resolutely ignoring came rushing out.

“You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly. I never saw you coming. And tomorrow, you’ll be gone, and that… _breaks_ my heart. And I _hate_ it. I hate that you’ve somehow snuck in, made me feel for you, and now you’re just going to leave. I want to hate you for it, but I can’t hate you. And _that’s_ what I hate most.

And I don’t know what’s going to happen after tonight. But I know that I’m going to miss you, and that I can’t explain it, or why I have these feelings, but I will. I will miss you so much it will hurt.”

Jack was quiet a moment, watching her. Then he took a careful step towards her, reaching for her cautiously, like he was asking permission. Katherine closed the gap between them, kissing him.

It was softer than the one earlier and had an edge of desperation to it. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and she gripped the front of his shirt, wishing time would just stand still.

Because this felt too much like a goodbye.

Jack pulled away, only to drop his head to her shoulder, hugging her tightly. Katherine moved her hands to wrap her arms around his middle.

“I’ll miss ya too,” he said softly. It wasn't a speech, wasn't a confession like hers, but she felt everything he wasn't saying in how he held her. 

She tightened her arms around him.

“We should go. Meet Max.”

She nodded, but didn’t move away. He didn’t, either.

After a long moment, Katherine reluctantly pulled away, looking up at Jack. He set his jaw and nodded.

It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random non-historical note: "Delpino" came from Max Casella's character Vinnie Delpino on Doogie Howser, MD. Literally the only reason I'm pointing this out is because it always cracked me up for some reason to think about Racer starring alongside Neil Patrick Harris (which, now that I think about it, Ben Cook could totally play Neil's son......
> 
> I'm getting off track, ignore me.......)
> 
> I cut something between these two pieces, mostly for length and continuity, but I may post the whole thing separately when I'm finished here. It was basically Davey, Les, and Crutchie helping Jack and Kath get ready to meet Max, but I wanted to go in a different direction, wrap up the Jack/Kath's loose ends before they saw Paul. Jack, Davey, and Crutchie will have another moment before the end.
> 
> Next chapter... the exciting showdown. 
> 
> Two chapters left! (well, one chapter and an epilogue) How do we feel so far?
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a confrontation, a jailbreak, and a gunshot.

Jack and Katherine stood outside Paul’s office. He’d never felt so nervous facing a wooden door, including the time he, Les, and Davey marched in to Pulitzer’s office to inform him the Newsies of Lower Manhattan were going on strike.

The back of Katherine's hand brushed his and Jack turned his head to look at her. He couldn’t believe how calm she looked, about ready to walk into a room with a man who lied, stole, and hurt people.

Not ta mention Paul Kelly.

“Ya don’t gotta be here,” Jack said. As comforting as her presence was, he knew what Kelly’s men was like. He didn’t want Katherine nowhere nears ‘em.

Her hand brushed his again. “I know.”

He looked at her a long moment, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go back, finish the strike, maybe meet Katherine at a time when he wasn’t a shell of Jack Kelly, wasn’t running for his life or risking hers.

But who was ta say they even woulda met? He woulda still been a poor Newsie, an’ she still woulda been a heiress.

For whatever reason, this was how they met, an’ there wasn’t much he could do ‘bout any of it, ‘cept ta make sure they both survived this so maybe one day he could come up with the right words ta tell her how he felt, like she had.

Taking a deep breath, Jack raised a fist and knocked on the wood door. After a moment, Paul’s voice answered.

“Come in.”

Turning the doorknob slowly, Jack pushed open the door, entering the office, Katherine following behind him.

“Paul.”

Kelly leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. “Mr. Kelly. And Miss Pulitzer. How nice,” he commented drily. “Do you finally have answers for me?”

Jack crossed his arms across his chest, trying to look more confident than he felt. “Yeah, we got answers for ya. The answer is yeah, Pulitzer’s got tha dirt on ya. An’ he’s gonna run it all unless ya do somethin’ for me.”

“Threatening me? Is that really what you want to do?” He waved a hand dismissively at them. “Leave, before my patience wears thin."

"I think you's gonna wanna listen ta us, Paul," Jack said darkly. 

Sitting forward, Paul studied him a moment. "Okay. Humor me. What deal do you want to make?" 

"Ya let Race go, an' neither'a us gotta work for ya no more, ya leave the Newsies alone, or the _World_ runs an article on everythin' you've been doin'." 

Paul didn't look convinced. "And just who did you get to write this supposed article on me?"

"Me." Katherine stepped up next to Jack, her chin lifted defiantly.

Amusement flickered across Paul's face, and Jack could swear it was the first time he'd seen anything resembling a smile on Kelly's face. " _You_ Miss Pulitzer? Certainly, this is a far cry from your little entertainment pieces." 

Katherine had a steely look in her eyes. "It was. But this article ends with your downfall and my ticket out of the entertainment pages. So I think it's worth it."

Paul sat back, considering her. Jack had seen him with few women before, and none of them had ever spoken to him like Katherine did.

"Let me see this article," he finally said.

Katherine glanced up at Jack, who shrugged a shoulder uncertainly. They hadn't discussed what to do if Kelly actually wanted to see the article.

Slowly, she pulled the folded paper from the pocket of her dress, handing it carefully to Paul.

He took it, unfolding it and skimming the contents, taking his time.

Jack tried not to fidget, knowing it would only slow Paul further. Kelly liked bein' in charge and makin' sure everyone knew it.

Finally, Paul scoffed, tossing the article on his desk. "This is nothing. Even if you do run it, no one will believe you."

"If it runs in the  _World_ and the  _Sun,_ they will," Katherine insisted. "My father _is_ one of the most persuasive men in New York."

"But'cha already knew that, did'n't'cha Paul? Else ya wouldn't've had me followin' K-Miss Pulitzer."

Paul shook his head. "Even if they believe it, no one would dare cross me. Now, I suggest you get out of my office. Immediately."

Clearly he wasn’t going to change his mind. Cutting a glance to Katherine, Jack jerked his head to the door. She nodded quickly, picking up her article. They started to make their exit, when Jack suddenly turned around.

“How d’ya know m’real name?” It was far from the most important thing he should be worryin’ about, but he had to know.

Paul laughed humorlessly. “Did you really think that after your failure to follow through with Monk Eastman, I wouldn’t have you followed to make sure you did your job?” His voice hardened. “Now, I believe I told you to leave. I won't ask again.”

Jack shook his head, almost in disbelief. He’d spent seventeen years lookin’ over his shoulder, and after only two years, he’d gotten too comfortable. Tugging Katherine’s elbow, he pulled her into the hallway.

“What do we do now?” Katherine asked in a whisper as they left the office.

Jack pulled his gun from his waistband, wincing with the contortion of his shoulder. “We bust Racer outta here, you gets the article ta ya father, and Race an’ I hightails it ta the train station."

"What about Mr. Delpino?"

"Max? He's s'posed ta be just outside, waitin' for us."

They retraced his steps from just that morning— _jeez,_ it hadn’t even been a full day—to the closet where he hoped Race still was.

“This probably isn’t the best time, but what was that, about you and Monk Eastman?” Katherine asked.

“I… may’a shot ‘im,” Jack admitted as they turned a corner.

“Any particular reason?”

“Besides Kelly told me to? Not really.” He glanced back at her, gauging her reaction. Her face remained neutral. Stopping in front of a door, Jack said, “Here—this door.” Crouching so he was eye level with the doorknob, Jack began to pick the lock.

He hadn’t tried the prayin’ thing in a while, but as he heard the tumblers click and he stood, twisting the knob, Jack was praying to God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, whoever’d listen.

_Let Anthony be in there. Let ‘im be alive._

The door swung open.

And, for once, someone was listenin’.

“Jack?” Race squinted in the light suddenly flooding the dark closet.

“Hey, Racer. C’mon, we’s bustin’ outta here.” Jack helped the other boy stand, draping one of Race’s arms over his neck and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Jack,” Race shook his head. “You’s an _idiot_. You’s already gott out, why’d ya come back?”

“I ain’t leavin’ ya,” Jack tried to get Race to move, but he’d somehow found the energy to dig in his heels.

“It’s hard ‘nuff breakin’ outta someplace once. Twice’s close ta impossible.”

Jack wanted to laugh. _This_ , comin’ from the kid who helped him break out of the Refuge twice? “Aw, Racer, we’s busted outta worse places than this. Now quit yer yappin’. We’s gotta get out ‘fore the last train leaves.”

“What train? What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?” Race blinked, taking in Katherine for the first time. “Who’s she?”

Katherine opened her mouth to speak, but Jack shook his head. There wasn’t _time_. “Race, I’s’ll explain everythin’ ta ya later if ya just _move ya feet_.”

They finally got Race moving, too slowly, but they were finally gettin’ close to the exit. Just another hallway, another corner, and…

“Where d’ya think you’s goin’, Kelly?”

“You’s _gotta_ be kiddin’ me,” Jack muttered. Johnny and Biff may only be muscle ‘round here, but they’s timin’ was just a little _too_ good.

Carefully, he handed Race off to Katherine, who wrapped her arm around him, and turned, raising his gun. 

"Aw, put that away, Sully. Or, I s'pose, Kelly," Johnny sneered. "Ya can't even use it right."

"I can use it just fine." Jack leveled his piece at Johnny.

“You’s gonna die tonight, Kelly. Ya know that.”

“Maybe so.” Jack had made his peace with that years ago. He always knew he’d live a short life, and if he had to choose, dyin’ to protect people he loved wasn’t all that bad a way to go. “But if I go, I’s takin’ one’a you with me.”

"Come off it, Kelly," Biff taunted. "There's two'a us an' only one'a ya wit' a gun. Even if ya takes a shot at one'a us, the other'll just take out'cha lady friend an' ya buddy over there."

Jack cut a glance to Katherine and Race. Racer was leaning into her, struggling to stay upright and not pull Katherine down with him.

And Katherine...

Her eyes were wide, hardly concealing the fear on her face, and yet her body was angled in front of Race, like she was ready to stand between him an' a shot.

“Ya think I won’t?” Jack demanded, turning back to Biff and Johnny, his steady voice hiding how terrified he really felt. 

“Nah, Kelly,” Biff sneered. “I don’t think you’s got it in ya.”

“Maybe he ain’t,” a new voice said from behind Jack. “But I do.”

Jack didn’t have to turn around to know it was Max, hopefully with his own gun.

The hallway went deathly still, the only sound Race’s ragged breathing, as the four gunmen stared each other down.

There was the slightest hint of movement, and the _crack!_ of a gunshot echoed in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... I think I'm just gonna leave it at that.
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An escape, letters, long train rides, and lots of handholding. 
> 
> In other words, the conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this chapter took so long to finish, it just. wouldn't. write.
> 
> Warning, I attempt to write as the Newsies would, which led to painful misspellings and improper grammar. I hope you can suffer through it.

Katherine was breathing heavily, the layers of her skirts weighing her down as they ran. “I—can’t believe—are we just going to leave him?”

Race limped beside her as quickly as he could. “We can’t do anythin’ fer ‘im.”

Another gunshot echoed in the corridor, and Jack cursed under his breath, slinging an arm around Race, taking on more of his weight trying to help them go faster.

Barreling out the side door into the alleyway, they didn't stop running until they made it to the meet-up spot, where Crutchie and Davey were waiting, looking over their shoulders the whole way.

"What happened?" Crutchie asked, as they ducked into the alley. "Ya were s'posed ta be here ten minutes ago."

Lifting Race's arm from around his neck, Jack helped him sit on an overturned crate. "Plan—went a little... sideways," he gasped out, leaning briefly against the brick wall of the building.

"Sideways how?" Davey asked, alarmed. 

"Mr—Delpino... was shot," Katherine said, breathlessly, bracing her arm against the wall next to Jack.

Crutchie and Davey looked up at Jack, alarmed.

"What... What's that mean?" Crutchie asked carefully.

"Yeah, Jackie," Race asked, tipping his head back wearily. "What's goin' on? Who was that guy?"

Jack shrugged, looking at Katherine, who seemed just as lost.

Letting out a loud breath, Jack pushed himself off the wall, rubbing his eyes. "'S'a friend, Racer. An' him bein' shot means we's gotta get outta here."

"Outta here?" Race was confused, Jack could tell, an' hurt badly an' prob'ly needed sleep 'bout as badly as Jack did, but there wasn't a whole lotta time to explain right now. For all he knew, Kelly an' Biff an' Johnny were right behind 'em. 

"Look, 'm sorry I can't tell ya much right now, Racer, but I promise I will soon. Just... keep ya eyes open 'til we gets ta the train, alright?"

Race's brow furrowed, but he nodded, slouching on the crate a moment, rubbing the heel of his palm in the spot between his eyes.

Squeezing Race's shoulder briefly, Jack turned to Crutchie, who was worryin' the handle of his crutch, where the wood was nearly smooth from his fingers. Jack's stomach bottomed out, even as he forced a fake half-smile and clapped Crutchie's shoulder.

“Alright, kiddo, take care’a yaself.”

In a move that seemed to surprise both of them, Crutchie threw the arm that wasn’t holding his crutch around Jack’s neck.

“I just founds ya again, Jackie. Didn’t think I’d lose ya again so fast.”

Jack held his friend tight, dropping his head on Crutchie's shoulder. "Aw, ya don't need me, kid. Jus' keep ya head down an' don't make no trouble."

"Can't make trouble. You an' Race're takin' it all wit' ya," Crutchie said, his tone overly light.

Jack huffed a laugh and let go of Crutchie, taking a step back so he could talk to Race, before turning to Davey nervously, sticking out a hand awkwardly.

"Davey. Take... couldja take care'a tha boys f'r me?" He didn't have no right, askin' Davey that, but he knew the boys would follow him. An' if they didn't, Crutchie'd put 'em in line.

Eyeing his hand warily, Davey looked a Jack a long moment before quickly spitting in his own hand and shaking Jack's firmly. "You come back, Kelly, alright?"

Cracking a small smile, Jack nodded. "I'll do m'best."

Dropping his hand, Davey cuffed his shoulder before his eyes darted over Jack's shoulder a moment before smiling a bit and stepping to the side to talk to Race and Crutchie.

Jack furrowed his brow at that, and turned to see Katherine behind him, her hair scraped up into a ponytail with a ribbon she must've found in her pocket. He took a step towards her, feeling shy for the first time since he was twelve. 

"Ya gonna be okay?" he asked her.

She huffed out a soft laugh. "You're the one who's running from actual gangsters, and you're asking _me_ if I'll be okay?"

"They know ya too," Jack reminded her. "An' knowin' 'em, they prob'ly knows more'n they lets on."

Katherine shrugged a shoulder, attempting to appear nonchalant, but he'd spent enough time wit' her to know she was just play-actin'. "I have my father's protection. And the boys in the Lodging House do too," she added sincerely. Her fingers flexed, and she reached out, hesitantly taking his hand.

He wanted to say... so much. Wanted to hold her like he had in her apartment. Wanted to turn back the clock. Wanted...

A whistle blew from the train yard, interrupting his thoughts, causing them both to jerk. Jack looked down at their entwined hands. "Guess that's our cue," he said, squeezing gently before letting go. 

"Guess so." Katherine let out a shaky breath, stepping back as Davey and Crutchie helped Race stand and Jack wrap an arm around him. 

He looked around at their little group, at Davey, an' Charlie, an' Katherine, as Race leaned heavily on him. He knew this wasn't the last time he'd see them, but his stomach still twisted as he took them in, like the last night he spent in the Lodging House, watchin' his boys joke and goof off, knowin' he prob'ly wouldn't see 'em.

Opening his mouth to speak, the words got stuck in Jack's throat, and Crutchie beat him to the punch.

"Go on, Jackie. Ya'll miss ya train."

Jack clamped his mouth shut again, nodding curtly. He took one last, long look at each of them, lingering a beat longer on Katherine, before turning away, knowing if he stayed too much longer, he wouldn't be able to leave.

As fast as they could, between Race's injuries and Jack's exhaustion, they made their way to the train yard, managing to hop a train and get hidden before it pulled out of the station.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Racer's healin up better now, an we both gots work. Ya no, I wanted nothin more than to come out West for so long an nows that Im out here, I want nothin more than to be back in New York. Sure the moons all big an yellow an there aint no buildings in my way, but it ain’t home. The boys ain’t here, Medda ain’t here… you aint._

 

 _Tammany Hall released a statement, not long after you left of town. They’re saying someone from Eastman’s gang shot Mr. Delpino in retaliation the Five Points’ members shooting Eastman a month ago. Father's trying to work on it, but there isn't much hope right now._   _T_ _here’s a letter for Race, too, from someone named Spot Conlon? He said he was from Brooklyn. Charlie knew him, so I thought it would be okay._

 

 _When ya din’t show up fer the poker game, we thoughts ya might be in the Refuge, but Crutchy said you was out west, that you was in trouble._ _What the hell. Why wouldn’t ya tell me you was in trouble with Five Points? Brooklyn coulda helped. You’s wona us._ _Y_ _a better let us know when you’s comin back, or I’s’ll bust ya head, Higgins, don’t think I wont._

 

 _I couldnt ask ya ta help. Bad enuf I gots Jackie mixed up innit. Couldnt getcha tangled up to._

_Ill be fine, Spotty. Doncha worry bout ol Race. Jack says we should only gotta lay low a few months. Ill be back in Brooklyn, takin all ya money soon, don't worry._

_How are you? Im ok. Its weird, tryna help Davey lead tha Newsies here. I just aint the leadin type, I guess._

_Hows Santa Fe? Is it as clean an pretty like ya always thought? Ride any palameenos yet?_

_The boys miss ya. Davey to, even if he dont say it._

_~~Kathrin~~ _ _Katherine’s been comin by alot to. The boys really like her._

_Well Is gotta go. Carryin the banner an all that._

_~~Your friend~~ _ _~~Your best friend~~           Your brother _

 

_I miss you._

 

_I miss you._

 

The letters continued, from Katherine, and Spot, and Crutchie, and the boys, tucked away for safekeeping. Jack and Race never discussed what their letters said, but read them, and reread them until the words where faded and the paper was worn. 

It wasn’t until they’d been out West for almost eight months when he got a letter from Katherine. It was thinner than her other letters, and Jack felt his stomach drop.

He ripped into the envelope, careful not to tear her writing on the back of the envelope.

Inside was an article, but not from a pape. It was like when Katherine wrote her articles on the typewriter before it went to print.

 _FRAUD AT THE POLLS?_ was the title on top. A note was scrawled in the corner, in Katherine's handwriting.

 _No one's printing this. Whether they don't_ _know, or are too scared, I don't know. But I thought you should know _—K__

Jack skimmed the article quickly, something about Paul Kelly and his boys stuffing ballots and harrassin’ voters at some election.

But that wasn’t what she was trying to tell him.

She was trying to say it was safe to come home.

“Say, Race?” he tried to say casually, turning to his roommate, who was sitting out on the fire escape, smoking.

“Yeah, Jackie?” Race snubbed out his cigarette and ducked back through the window.

Jack handed him the article. Race read it, looking up sharply when he'd finished. 

"Katherine sent it ta me." Jack explained. "She said it ain't in the papes. Doesn't know why. Maybe they's scared or somethin'. But anyways, it's lookin' like Paul's movin' on, forgettin' 'bout us. I mean, if he's got time ta do somethin' like that, surely he don't 'member two former Newsies who owes him _—"_

“Jack?” Race interrupted.

“Yeah?”

Race's hands were shaking a little around the paper. “Can we go home now?” 

“Yeah, kid. Let’s go home.”

_Katherine—_

_Wes coming home. Saturday night train._

_Hope you’ll be there._

_—Jack_

 

_Spot—_

_Probly heard already, but Saturday night. Ill be home._

_—Race_

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

They were both antsy on the train—this time riding in actual seats—fidgeting as they looked out the window every five minutes. They didn’t have anything with them except the clothes on their back and a bundle of letters they both thought the other didn’t know about. They hadn't accumulated too much in Santa Fe, and left what they did in their shabby apartment.

Jack looked up from his hand, where he'd been picking at dried paint from his wrist, to see the New York skyline growing larger by the minute. He kicked Race's seat.

Race jerked, looking up, ready to tell him off. Jack waved at him, pointing out the window. Peering out, the first real smile in months crossed his friend's face.

Another ten minutes and they pulled into the station. They stepped onto the platform with the other passengers, sticking close as they were bumped into from all sides.

“Ya see ‘em?” Race asked, craning his neck.

Jack shook his head, scanning the crowd at the station, searching for a familiar face. 

Suddenly, he heard a voice shout out, "There they are!" and a cheer rise up from a small crowd off to their left. 

Les, Davey, Crutchie, a bunch'a the boys from the Lodging House surged froward to surround Race and Jack. Even Spot Conlon was there, a faint smile cracking through his normally stoic exterior as he shook Race's hand, then Jack's.

He tried not to feel too disappointed when he didn't see her, but then a slender hand was grasping his, linking their fingers, and Jack turned to see Katherine beaming up at him.

Jack looked around, a grin splitting his face as the boys kept talking too loudly over one another, clapping his back, and Katherine held his hand, and something he hadn't been able to shake for almost three years lifted from his shoulders. 

He was stronger.

He was better.

He was—finally—Jack Kelly again.

And he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes (haven't had these in a while...): After Monk Eastman was shot, one of his men killed a Five Pointer in retaliation.
> 
> On September 17, 1901, the Five Points Gang helped Tom Foley (one a them crooked politicians) win the Second Assembly District primary elections. They reportedly harassed those wanting to vote for Foley's opponent and stuffed ballots in favor of Foley (one member was even noted as saying "I got 53 votes in!") Despite cover of the election, no newspaper actually reported Kelly or his men being there.
> 
> Non-hisotrical notes: Roughly four/five months ago, I had a random idea for a story with Mobster Jack following around Katherine for his boss. I had no other ideas past that but I loved the thought of it so much, I had to jump in and hope I found the ending along the way. In the first chapter, I described this story as a "train wreck" and I feel it's lived up to its name. There were twists and turns even *I* wasn't ready for, and I'm blown away that all of you have stayed with me while I tried to figure it out. Thank you so so so much for sticking with me on this bumpy ride, and for your kind comments and kudos!! <333
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


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